Loaded Up and Truckin'
by SedatedKoala
Summary: Wade Wilson has a broken heart and isn't looking for love, but when Neena Thruman, also known as Domino on the interwebs, asks him to be her wingman on a Tinder meet-up, he can't say no. The Trucker AU nobody knew they wanted until it happened.
1. Chapter 1

It was six o'clock when Neena Thurman pulled into Wade Wilson's driveway. He was just stepping out the door with a bag of trash in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He looked at her with his head cocked to the side and said, "What the fuck? I was just about to text you."

"Lucky me," she said as she shut the door. "I was wondering if you'd be my wingman for something tonight."

"I think you're thinking of pigeon wings," Wade said.

Neena frowned. "No, I'm thinking of you because you are the one who needs to get out of your house from time to time."

He shoved the trash in the curbside can. He was in sweatpants and a greasy t-shirt, obviously not ready to go anywhere except back to sit on his couch and probably eat another pint of ice cream. He'd been a wreck since Vanessa died; he was aware. Everyone was aware. And he was aware that his friends were doing their absolute best to get him back into the dating world—or just the world in general. But he was also aware that no one with halfway decent eyesight would give him a second look without it being from alarm and confusion rather than actual interest. Vanessa loved him before and after cancer. He loved her before and after death. He couldn't imagine any world where that could be matched.

Wade said, "Thanks, but no thanks. Maybe next time when I'm finished with my stint as a model for GQ. I hear they're doing a casting call for sexy Freddy Kruger."

"I need a good wingman because I'm meeting a dude from Tinder," Neena said, not acknowledging his self-deprecation. "He seems decent and all, but you know how many creeps there are in the world."

"Oh, yes, allow me to accompany you on your hookup adventure." Wade shook his head. "I'd rather not, okay?"

Neena planted a hand on her hip. "You seriously going to leave me hanging? You're gonna feel really bad when they find my body in a dumpster."

Wade gave her a frown. "Last time I checked, you're the one who kicked my ass last week when we sparred. You put my hip out of place. I walked like I was birthday boy at a gangbang for three days."

She crossed her arms, hip still cocked.

"Fine!" he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "I'll go put on some shoes or something."

"We're meeting him at the Temp Stop in an hour," Neena said as she followed him back into the house.

Wade paused with his hand on the door knob. "The Temp Stop? We're meeting him at a gas station? What the fuck kind of a hookup is this?"

"It's not a hookup; it's a face to face meeting," Neena explained. "Not everyone goes on Tinder to fuck."

"That's what people who are just on Tinder to fuck say to people who say they are not on Tinder to fuck," Wade said as he kicked off his Crocs and shuffled through the debris to the couch where Al sat with a beer in her hand.

"You still throwing your pity party?" Al asked after a sip of beer.

Wade said, "Yes I am, can't you see that? Oh wait!"

"Asshole," Al grumbled into the bottle.

"Hi, Althea," Neena said with a smile.

Her demeanor shifted, and she said, "Hello, Neena, sweetie. Any chance you're taking Wade off my hands?"

"Trying to," Neena answered. "I'm meeting a guy and once he's _showered_ and _decent_ , he's coming along to be my wingman." Wade was already in the bathroom at that point, and he grumbled something before the water pipes groaned and the shower hissed to life.

"He'll at least make you look good," Al said.

"Like you would know!" Wade shouted from the bathroom. "Your standards of beauty are based on the 70's model. I am 90's sexy."

"It's 2018!" Al shouted back. To Neena, and much softer, she said, "I'm glad you're getting him out of here. He's gotten bad the last couple weeks."

"It's that time of year," Neena said with a sigh. "Can't really blame him."

"He needs to remember he's alive," Al said.

"He knows he's alive; I think that's the problem," Neena said.

Wade's shower was short, and he walked out of the bathroom wearing white and gray plaid pants, slip on blue canvas shoes with pink and gray argyle socks, a yellow polo shirt and pale blue nylon jacket that was new in the 80's. If his plan was to win people over with his sense of style, it was not going to work. Neena thought about asking him to change into something more suitable for a night out, but figured Wade was hoping for that reaction so he could tell her to fuck off.

"You ready?" she said with a half smile.

Wade nodded and said to Al, "If you need anything while I'm gone, don't call me."

"Fuck you," Al said as they walked out the door.

Once in the car, Wade rolled down the window and rested his arm along the door. "So who is this guy you're meeting?"

"He goes by the name Cable on his profile," Neena said. "A little older than me, but we have a few things in common. I figured I'd give him a chance, and if he sucks, I can use you as an escape."

"Cable?" Wade said with a snort. "Does he work for Time Warner or something?"

"He's a truck driver," she said.

"Truck driver?" Wade said, his scarred brow scrunched. "Seriously?"

"Yes," she answered. "He's heading down to Georgia with a load of oil."

Wade gave her an incredulous look, and said, "So a dude with a _semi_ is hauling a _big load_ of _lubricant_ through town on his way down South?"

The humor in his voice made Neena smile. Times like this, he almost sounded like his usual self. She said, "Yes, Wade. To all of that, yes."

"And we're meeting at a gas station," Wade said flatly. "No, there's nothing sketchy about that."

"This is his normal run, and he lives locally," Neena said. "And it's a public place."

"It's a public place where it would be easy to kidnap someone," Wade said. "Good thing I decided to come along."

"More like dragged along." Neena took a turn and asked, "When are you going to get back into the dating scene?"

"When they make Tinder for the horribly disfigured," Wade said.

She frowned. "You are not a bad looking guy, Wade."

"Should you be driving with such bad eye sight?" Wade asked. Before she could respond, Wade said, "Anyway, other than being a truck driver with a load of oil, what do you know about this guy?"

"Not much," she said with a shrug. "That's why you meet people and talk."

"Meeting people is typically how I stay single."

Neena sighed, but said nothing. Al was right. Wade was definitely in one of his darker moods. He was always this way near the anniversary of Vanessa's death. Or her birthday. Or any holiday. Or any day something reminded him of her. He might make snarky jokes at every opportunity, but they all knew it was just another way that Wade plastered over the pain.

They pulled into the gas station, which was more of a truck stop, and Wade squinted out the window. He asked, "What's Mr. Dreamy driving?"

"A silver Peterbilt," Neena answered.

Wade barked a laugh. "Well, you know what they say about truck drivers."

Neena squinted at him. "No?"

"Old truckers never die, they just get a new peter built," Wade said with a grin.

She shook her head but didn't fight the smile at the lame joke. She said, "By the way, he knows me as Domino, and I kind of want to keep it that way until I decide otherwise."

"I got your back, Dom," Wade said as he gave her a fist bump. He gestured out the window and said, "Silver Peterbilt, 10 o'clock."

Neena looked and said, "Yeah, that looks like the one in his profile picture."

Wade laughed and said, "He's probably got a giant beer gut and swamp ass."

"You're horrible," Neena said as she opened her door.

Wade got out and fell into step by her as they walked to the side of the main building where the diesel fueling docks were located. He could see hints of the person in question through the windows, but no real features. Wade leaned to Neena and asked, "You gonna do a greeting hug or handshake?"

"I figure handshake," she said.

"Good choice," Wade said with a nod. "Whatever you do, try not to think about how many times he's jerked off with that hand."

Neena slapped his shoulder. "Asshole, now that's all I'm going to think about."

It was about that time that the man in question finally opened the door of the cab and stepped down to the pavement. He had silver hair in a high and tight cut and a black patch over his left eye. He was older than Wade figured he would be, considering the type that Neena typically went for. Looks-wise, he looked like someone who rarely smiled, but still had a handsome face overall.

"Domino?" he said as he approached. It was then that Wade realized he had a prosthetic left arm.

Neena smiled and said, "Cable?"

He nodded and held out his hand, and Wade had to fight the urge to laugh when he saw the thought of him jerking off pass through Neena's mind. She gave him a dirty look, and he smirked.

Cable turned to him and said, "You must be her bodyguard, right?"

Wade nodded and shook his hand. It was a very firm handshake. The hand was calloused and had that sort of permanent dirty look that only those who do manual labor can appreciate. It was an enjoyable handshake, Wade decided. "Yeah, I…uh…" He laughed and said, "Should I use a fake name, too?"

Cable laughed. "My name is Nate. Nathan Summers."

"Wade Wilson," Wade answered. They were still shaking hands, Wade suddenly realized. He coughed and stepped back. "Nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too," Neena said. She had a funny look on her face.

Cable—Nate—stepped back, a little awkward. He was a big guy, and Wade was surprised that he seemed so nervous. Or maybe he was misreading it, and Cable was hoping that Wade would disappear so he could flirt with Neena—or kidnap her, whatever.

After a moment, he said, "I need to fuel up and park. Want to meet in the restaurant in about ten minutes?"

"Sounds good to me," Neena said, looking from Nate to Wade.

Wade nodded, and Nate headed back to his truck to start fueling. Neena took Wade's arm and they walked inside the truck stop. It was a very typical truck stop, with walls lined with a variety of semi-truck gadgets and accessories, displays of trinkets and gifts that probably comprised many birthday, Christmas, and anniversary presents. It also had the typical gas station fare of bottled soda, energy drinks, beer, and ice, rows of snack foods, and a cold case of pre-packaged sandwiches A sign hung from the ceiling that directed people towards the showers, restrooms, and restaurant.

"What do you think?" Neena asked Wade as they walked towards the restaurant. It was a greasy spoon from the scent of it, and Wade could almost feel his intestines protesting.

"I think he's said like two sentences and that's not enough to make a judgement," Wade said. "What do you think?"

She shrugged. "He looks…" she paused, trying to figure out which route to take, and settled on, "…older than he does in his pictures."

"No one looks the same in their pictures," Wade said.

A waitress appeared and escorted them to a table near the windows. Neena sat first, and Wade was about to sit across from her, but she said, "No, beside me. I don't want him getting the wrong idea."

Wade sat beside her and said, "I think he's going to get the idea you're not all that interested."

She shrugged. "I'm giving him a chance."

Wade noticed there was one of those old fashioned tiny jukeboxes on the table, the kind that you stick a quarter in and pick out a song that played quietly. The songs available were all from around the time the little device was probably new. A lot of Elvis. He frowned.

"I kind of want to know the story behind those scars," Neena said as she flipped through one of the tri-fold menus stuck in the little plastic compartment attached to a napkin holder.

"No one has scars like that wants to tell the story when they first meet someone," Wade said. It felt weird talking to her sitting beside him so close, and it made sense that she would want to sit across from the potential squeeze. Less neck straining.

Neena laughed and said, "I kind of hate you right now, by the way."

Wade smirked. "You were totally thinking about him jerking off, weren't you."

"Asshole."

The waitress came by to deliver glasses of water about the same time that Nate came through the door. Wade was the one who saw him first, and he gestured with his hand to catch his attention. A flicker of a smile that seemed incredibly forced appeared, and Nate crossed the room in a way that made Wade wonder if he'd been in the military. Military people have a certain kind of walk, and considering the missing arm, scars, and haircut, Wade would put money on the Marines. Maybe special forces.

He sat across from Wade and the three of them placed their drink orders.

"Domino says you're head of security for a private school," Nate said after a sip of water. He had the scent of diesel exhaust and Brute, and his voice was rough and level.

Wade had to fight to keep from laughing. "Not exactly, but close."

"How close?" Nate asked.

"It's more like a strip club that kept the sign from when it was a private school," Wade said. "It's called Sister Margaret's, and I'm a bouncer."

Nate didn't laugh so much as huff breath a couple times with the hint of a smile. "How'd you end up doing that?"

"Pity," Wade answered. "I needed a job and my best friend owns the place."

"Do you like it?" Nate asked.

Wade shrugged. "It pays the bills and I don't have to mop the private rooms. What about you? How'd you end up a trucker? Did you watch Smokey and the Bandit and get all dreamy?"

Nate outright laughed at that. It was obvious he didn't do that much. He said, "Not exactly. More like I drove a truck when I was in the Marines, and just kept doing it once I was out. It's what I'm good at, I guess."

Wade smiled, happy to know he was right about the military. He said, "I was in the Royal Canadian Army, but I was just a grunt with a gun. Nothing very exciting. Domino was a sharpshooter in the Army, though."

"It was a medal, not a rank," she said. She wasn't saying a lot, really.

"She said you were Canadian," Nate said.

Wade glanced at her, then said to Nate with a nervous laugh in his voice, "What else did she tell you about me?"

"That's about it," Nate said.

The waitress returned with their drinks and the three of them placed their orders. Wade went for a greasy burger and fries that he was certain he would regret later. Neena ordered a Caesar salad. Nate went with the soup of the day (beef vegetable) and a roast beef club sandwich.

They talked while they ate, the conversation mostly being held by Wade and Nate. Several times, Neena popped in with a comment or two, but she seemed much more interested in something on her phone. Wade didn't mind. Nate was actually fun to talk to. He was kind of dry, sure, but he clearly had a bit of a sense of humor. Best of all, Wade didn't see the same kind of sad look that almost all his friends gave him. There was sadness there, Wade was certain, but it wasn't towards him. Wade had to wonder what exactly it was that caused the permanent frown lines by his mouth and between his eyes.

By the time that Nate needed to get on the road, Wade felt like he'd kind of made a friend. Neena gave a polite handshake and Wade found himself standing alone with Nate beside his truck. He had a weird feeling that Neena abandoned him intentionally. Not that he really cared. Still. He felt like this meeting was more for his benefit than it was for hers.

"It was nice to meet you, Wade," Nate said as he again shook Wade's hand.

 _Try not to think about how many times he's jerked off with that hand._ Wade laughed to himself and said, "Yeah, it was nice to meet you too, Nate. This was…it was good to get out of the house."

Nate gave that tight smile and after a moment, he said, "Do you want to get together again next time I'm in town?"

It took Wade a moment to process that statement. "Come again?"

He shrugged his shoulder and said, "I like you. You have a sense of humor I can appreciate, and I don't really get out much these days."

"If you're after a free lap dance, I don't have that kind of clout, buddy," Wade said with a huff.

"I'm asking if you'd like to see me again," Nate said plainly.

"See me," Wade parroted. His brow furrowed. "Like…You want to see me? Like how? In what context?"

Nate was frowning, but there was amusement in his tone. "Something vaguely resembling a date?"

Suddenly, Wade understood. This wasn't Neena meeting a dude from Tinder. She didn't need a bodyguard. She had zero interest in Nathan Summers aka Cable. This whole thing was some kind of a set-up. And yeah, it was a well known fact that Wade was the kind of guy who was happy no matter what was in someone's pants, but this… He wasn't happy about this.

"Look, I don't know what Domino told you, but I'm not really interested in dating anyone right now," Wade said, a hint of anger in his tone. "I mean, I'm sorry, because you're interesting, have good taste in books, and are probably an overall decent human being, but I'm…" He shook his head and said, "I'm just not ready for this. Not right now, okay?"

Nate nodded and said, "Understandable."

Wade turned to walk away, a rant for Neena building in his mind.

"But if you change your mind, I have tickets to the Mets/Cardinals game next weekend," Nate said.

Wade said, "I hate both of those teams."

"I'm not a fan of baseball," Nate replied.

"Then why have the tickets?" Wade asked.

Nate huffed a laugh. "My father's idea of a birthday present. Figured you might make it tolerable. Also, beer."

"Beer can make anything tolerable," Wade said. He paused with another rejection on his lips, then he shook his head and said, "Whatever. Fuck it. Sure."

The smile was a barely there thing, but Nate was smiling. The look did something to Wade. The next thing he knew, they were exchanging numbers. Another handshake, and Nate climbed into his cab and Wade returned to Neena's car, pausing a couple times in the trek to look back. Both times, he found Nate was also looking his way.

Neena was standing with her arms crossed on the roof of the car, her eyes shining and a smile on her face.

"I'm not happy with you right now," Wade said as he dropped down into the passenger's seat. He looked at the number on his phone's screen and clicked _SAVE_. "I don't like being ambushed with a date."

"It was just a face-to-face meeting with someone I think is perfect for you," Neena said with an unapologetic look. "And I knew you would never say yes, so I figured out a way to get you to say yes."

"Blackmail does not make friends, _Domino_ ," Wade said.

She smirked. "It made you a friend."

Wade sighed and found that he wasn't really all that mad. He wasn't going to tell her that though. He said, "Maybe."


	2. Chapter 2

It was a slow night at Sister Margaret's, as was typical on a Tuesday. The crowd was there more for the drinks than for the dancers, so Domino was busy at the bar and the girl on stage was only giving a half-hearted performance to a techno version of "Call Me Maybe." Weasel was propping up the bar because there was little else for him to do when the crowd was so sparse. Wade was seated at a barstool nursing a glass of whiskey on the rocks with a worn skeeball token in his left hand, his thumb rubbing over the letters stating _No Cash Value._

Priceless. That's what Wade considered it, at least.

"You should have told me you wanted your Jameson watered down," Neena said as she propped her elbows on the bartop across from him.

Wade glanced up at her and said, "Huh?"

She smiled. "You should go home. I think we've got things covered here."

"I don't know," Wade said as he looked toward the stage. "I think Krystal might need help fending off the ghosts of horny men who died here over the years."

"We need to bring back Tuesday night Lady's Night," she said with a mischievous smile. "Get you up on that pole and show everyone how you work it."

"I am quite good on a pole," Wade said, though his expression didn't match the humor in his voice. "And my calves look amazing when I wear my platforms."

Neena smirked and said, "You should try that line on Cable."

Wade shook his head and looked back at the token in his hand. He liked talking to Nate. He really did. But when Wade got home, the old pain was there and he just couldn't figure out why he'd been happy earlier. Then he felt guilty for feeling happy. Finally, he just pressed his face into Vanessa's pillow and willed himself to sleep.

"You _have_ texted him, right?" Neena said, practically laying her head on the bartop to get Wade to look at her.

"You're supposed to wait at least two lifetimes, or you seem over eager," Wade said flatly. Then his brow furrowed and he said, "What exactly did you tell him about me, anyway?"

She got out her phone and navigated to the Tinder app and opened the profile she made for Wade under the name Deadpool. She handed him the phone.

Wade read out loud, "Deadpool, 41. A good man with a good heart looking for friends. Don't be a weirdo, because that's my job." He looked at Neena and said, "What the hell kind of sad panda bullshit is that? Fuck. You could have just…" Then he noticed the picture that she used. Or rather, noticed what was missing. "You cropped out Ness?"

"It was your best picture," Neena said. "You're actually smiling."

Wade shook his head.

"You should text him," Neena said, deftly avoiding his question.

Weasel took an interest in the conversation then and said, "Text who?"

"The guy from Tinder," Neena said as she straightened up. "Older guy with the eyepatch."

"Oh, yeah," Weasel said, and it was only somewhat convincing that he was following the conversation.

The furrow deepened and Wade glared at Neena as he pointed at Weasel. "Did he know about this little caper?"

"Yes," Neena answered as Weasel said, "No."

More than likely, Weasel was only partially paying attention, if at all.

Wade sighed. "Guys, I do appreciate what you're trying to do here, but—"

"You guys were talking like you'd known each other forever," Neena said, giving him a knowing look. "And whether you're willing to admit it or not, you were actually happy on the ride home."

"That's not the point," Wade said. He scrubbed a hand over his face and said, "I don't think I'm ready for any kind of a relationship with anyone. I…" He shook his head, feeling the emotion rising and stinging at his eyes and burning his throat. "No one can replace _her,_ and you can't just fucking remove her like she was never there!"

"According to John James and Russell Friedman, the goal isn't to replace what was lost, but to heal from the wound so that you can once again open your heart." Wade, Weasel, and Neena turned to Buck, who continued from his barstool, "You need to do the work to process all of this grief, Wade, so that you can move forward. It does not dishonor your memory of Vanessa to open your heart and allow yourself to have feelings for someone else. You don't want to replace her; you need to complete yourself."

Wade's face scrunched and he said, "Who in the _fuck_ even asked your opinion, Buck?"

Buck put a hand on Wade's shoulder. Wade glared at the hand, then looked up when Buck said, "All this anger is just unresolved grief trying to come to the surface. The sooner you let it out, the sooner you can start to heal."

"Jesus tits, no more talking," Wade said as he shrugged off Buck's hand. He stood and said to Neena, "And don't ever try to set me up with someone again, or next time we spar, I'm not pulling my punches."

"I'll still stomp your ass," Neena called after him. "And you don't pull your punches!"

With a middle finger raised, Wade walked out the side door of Sister Margaret's. It was raining, a nice steady rain that caused Wade to pull the hood of his jacket up. He thought about going to the corner store, buying a pack of cigarettes and chain smoking his way back into the cancer ward. It was a stupid idea and far too time consuming as a method of suicide.

He ended up in a small park that was halfway between work and home and plopped down on a bench with peeling paint. At some point, he wasn't sure when, he stopped being able to cry over Vanessa. Most of the time, he was either pissed off or numb.

It all was so sudden. When he was hit with the big C, Vanessa was right there to help him through all of the tough days when he struggled with the treatments and spent most of his days vomiting or in agony. She never shied away when his hair fell out or when the growths and lesions left his face scarred and pocked. Vanessa was a rock by his side.

And then she…

Wade shook his head and took out his phone. A couple taps, and he navigated to his phonebook, scrolled to the entry for Cable and clicked the Trashcan icon. The question popped up, _Are you sure you want to delete this entry?_

His finger hovered over _Okay_.

Neena was right, but fuck her anyway. Still, she was right. Wade really did enjoy talking to the guy. Somehow, it felt like they were kindred spirits. Truth be told, it was easier to talk to someone like Nate because Nate didn't know his history. He didn't know that Wade just lost the love of his life (who also happened to be good friends with all his friends). Neena lost someone she'd known since Kindergarten. Al loved her like a daughter. They all grieved the loss, but Wade… Wade didn't know how. When Vanessa died, it felt like he'd lost a limb. He made that comparison many times.

He thought about Nate and wondered what he would think about the analogy.

Wade hit the _CANCEL_ button, then opened a text message. He typed:

 ** _Me:_** _This is Wade. I know I said I'd go to that game, but I am in a shitty place right now in every sense of the word. I have days where I don't want to live let alone pretend to be functional. This is what I am. I am barely sane, so whatever Domino told you, it was probably bullshit. I'm a clusterfuck in human form._

After a moment of hesitation, he hit _SEND_ and slouched down on the bench to let the rain hide any other droplets that may have gathered on his face.

* * *

Nate walked into the terminal in Atlanta with a stiff neck and grainy eyes. He'd been driving several hours and miles past what the Department of Transportation regulations considered safe and healthy. Then again, DoT regulations were made up by a bunch of idiots in offices who probably didn't know the difference between their ass and an air brake. At the dispatch window, he handed over his paperwork and updated logbook, then with his duffle bag and shaving kit slung over his shoulder, he headed outside to wait for the Uber to take him to the hotel.

Askani Transportaion was a decent company to work for, compared to others he'd signed on with over the years. Good benefits, decent mileage, plenty of vacation time, and they provided rooms for their drivers when a layover was necessary instead of having to sleep in the bunk. The next load wouldn't be ready for another 12 hours, and he would be paid for his time sleeping. The only thing on Nate's mind was a hot shower and clean sheets.

The hotel was only a couple miles from the terminal, and Nate was put into room 41. Outside doors, which always felt less secure, and as soon as he was inside he shuffled around the chairs to add an extra layer of protection that the deadbolt and slide lock didn't provide. This was a habit that Irene begged him to break, but he just couldn't. She didn't understand, and his paranoia was one of numerous reasons she cited as grounds for divorce.

Once certain no one was going to come through the door, Nate headed to the sink outside the bathroom door and took off his shirt. Next, he removed his prosthetic, unbuckling the straps and shedding it with a sigh of relief. He'd had it for years, and the soreness had gone away for the most part. It was a good fit, overall. The best he'd had in the last 20 years. Semi-articulating, and a perfect match in bulk and symmetry to his good arm. He removed the socket and padding and massaged the skin beneath a moment before dropping to the floor to do pushups.

This was his routine. Sitting in a diesel all day paid good money, but it was hard on the body in ways most didn't realize. Drivers were prone to high blood pressure, blood clots, and other bullshit because it was so sedentary. Thus, he exercised. The push-ups also helped keep his good arm in shape. So did the weekends helping at his dad's farm, chopping wood and bucking hay. With one arm, he outworked most people with two. Mind over matter, he told himself. He was always able to bend his matter to his will. That was the easy part of recovery.

The hard part, and what he still struggled with, manifested in his need to lock and block doors.

Once he'd built up a good sheen of sweat and had his heart pumping, he shaved and took a quick shower to get rid of the of the sweat and grime. By the time he was out, he saw a missed call from his daughter, Hope. He sat on the end of the bed in his boxers and a clean t-shirt and dialed her number.

She answered with a happy, "Hey, Dad!"

"Hey, sweetie," he said softly. "How was driver's ED today?"

"We just did dumb stuff, like signals. Who doesn't know how to use a turn signal?" she complained.

Nate laughed. "Lots of people, apparently."

Nate taught her how to drive when she was 10 years old, and had her pulling trailers at the farm like a pro by 12, much to her mother's disapproval. Hope was practically a natural.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"Atlanta," he answered. "At the hotel. Should be heading home sometime in the morning, or whenever they get the trailer loaded."

She sighed. "Mom said she's giving me the Touring Sedan."

Nate chuckled. It was a sound few people ever heard. "The Touring Sedan is a fine first car."

"I'd rather have a truck," she said, and it kind of made him proud. "Are you going to bring me peaches?"

"Wrong time of year," he said, unable to stop smiling. "But I'm going to be on this run at least until October, so when they're in season, I'll bring you a giant box straight from the orchards."

She asked, "Do you think I can take a trip with you when summer school's over?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Nate said, though he hated it. When Hope was little and he and Irene could still tolerate each other, they would take long trips over the road. He would work out deliveries to take them to interesting landmarks and National Parks. Hope liked to play in the bunk and roam around all the compartments. Those were the best trips because he didn't have to leave anyone behind. She cried every time he had to leave, and it always broke his heart a little. Bringing her along on a trip now, without Irene there to escort her around the truck stops, felt like a gamble he didn't want to take. And truthfully, he knew Irene would say no.

When the judge awarded Irene primary custody, Nate understood the reasoning. His job meant he was only home on weekends, and sometimes he had to be gone for several weeks at a time. Still, he spent every possible minute he could. Sometimes he was lucky to be home during the week to watch her judo matches, and he even got to attend the orchestra concert at Christmas—a first since she started playing cello. He saved up his sick days and personal days to compound his vacation time so he could take a month off in the summer, and the two of them usually went to Nate's family farm in the northern part of the state. It wasn't how he imagined being a father, and he hoped that she understood he did it all for her.

"If nothing else, we'll go visit Grandpa Scott and Grandma Jean," he said finally.

Hope sighed dramatically and asked, "Do they still have that mean rooster?"

"I think they ate him," Nate said, again smiling when Hope cackled.

There wasn't much conversation after that, and they hung up with the customary I love you's, a good night, and a promise to call again soon. Talking to Hope was the highlight of his days. She was always sending him texts, memes, and pictures because it was hard to know when he would be awake or sleeping. It was better now that everyone had a cell phone and signal was just about everywhere. In the early days, he had to use pay phones and could only call home a couple times a week. Now, he was never out of contact.

He plugged his phone into charge and flopped back on the mattress to stare at the ceiling. At some point, there had been a water leak, judging from the brownish stain in the corner. He closed his eyes and was just about asleep when his phone _pinged_. He cleared his throat and pushed himself up, only belatedly realizing he was laying on top of the hotel bedspread.

He expected a message from either Hope or dispatch. Instead, it was a message from Wade. He raised an eyebrow and tapped it to view.

 ** _Wade:_** _This is Wade. I know I said I'd go to that game, but I am in a shitty place right now in every sense of the word. I have days where I don't want to live let alone pretend to be functional. This is what I am. I am barely sane, so whatever Domino told you, it was probably bullshit. In the name of full disclosure, I'm a clusterfuck in human form._

Nate read it over a couple times, finding that it was oddly refreshing that Wade was so honest—even if it didn't seem accurate. He liked to joke, but Nate could see the pain that was underneath it all. It was familiar. There was a reason that, despite the oddity of how they became acquainted, he found himself interested in knowing Wade Wilson. He didn't have many friends who weren't drivers, and most of his conversations lately started with, _Hey dad._ Which, yes, he absolutely loved his daughter and he looked forward to every conversation with her, but it would be nice to have someone to talk to about things that had nothing to do with road miles or pop artists.

Before he could say anything, another text came through, and Nate realized that Wade was clearly having a rough night.

 ** _Wade:_** _The thing is…I found my soulmate. I found her, and she was killed. And that is not something you just get over. It's been two years, and it still hurts like it was yesterday. I know that Domino meant well. I know she did, but it just hurts so much to even think about. I may never be ready to be anything but a friend. I don't even know if I can be a friend._ _I feel like you deserve to know._

A sad smile settled onto Nate's mouth as he started typing. Strange as it may be, the pain is what made the most sense to him. Some days, it felt like his whole life was defined by varying levels of pain with only brief glimpses of what appeared to be happiness. Hope was the only bright spot, really.

 ** _Me:_** _I understand pain. I'm not going to say I know what you're going through because that would be bullshit. Pain is different for us all, and you need to deal with it on your own timetable and not that of your friends._ _I am sorry for the part I played in Domino's scheme. She did not give me the full picture, and I would not have gone along had I known. If that affects your view of friendship with me, I completely understand. Still, I am glad that I met you and if you are still up for it, I'd like to have your company Saturday, game or not._

He hit send and sighed as he settled back against the pillows and turned off the bedside light.

Domino, or whatever the hell her name was, admitted that she made the Tinder account in Wade's name. Initially, he told her to fuck off. Then he thought it was some kind of scheme. Half the people who'd contacted him either wanted money or were just assholes. He planned to delete his account. But for reasons that even now he could not articulate, he decided to meet this man and play along with his strange friend.

The thing was, he didn't expect to _like_ Wade. It was possibly the best conversation Nate had in maybe a decade. The guy didn't spend all his time staring at his arm or scars. He made eye contact and actually _understood_ Nate's sense of humor. Not to mention, Wade was funny. Nate wanted to know him better, but he also knew that Wade had every right to be pissed.

 _Ping!_

 ** _Wade:_** _I'm not mad at you or her. Dom's heart was in the right place. It's me. I'm not in the right place. But I do like the idea of a friend. I wasn't kidding when I said that, specifically about you. As long as you don't give me the pity eyes. I hate that shit._

 ** _Me:_** _I don't do pity, so you're in good hands._

Nate thought about it for a second, and sent a follow up.

 ** _Me:_** _Or good hand._

 ** _Wade:_** _LOL! Okay. Yeah. We can totally be besties._

A smile creeped across Nates face.

 ** _Me:_** _I hope your night gets better. I'm exhausted. Been driving way too long and about to go to sleep. But text me any time you need to. I may not reply right away, but I will reply._

 ** _Wade:_** _Thanks, Cable. Sweet dreams and all that._

 ** _Me:_** _You too, Wade._

* * *

Still in the rain, Wade was smiling and the only moisture on his face came from the sky. After a moment, he tucked his phone in his pocket, got up from the bench, and headed home with footsteps that felt somewhat lighter.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday, despite being up until 2am the previous night throwing around rowdy patrons, nearly choking a guy unconscious, and escorting dancers and wait staff home, Wade Wilson found it difficult to sleep. This was not unusual, really. Wade hadn't had a good night's sleep since Vanessa died. Typically, his mind was nothing but a ball of regret and anger, but in this case, he couldn't stop thinking about seeing Nathan Summers.

In his mind, Wade played out a dozen different ways that today would go, including one version where Nate was secretly a telepath and redirected a ball into the face of someone who said Bea Arthur was ugly. All scenarios were unique, and none of them were anywhere near logical, especially the one where the two of them decided to hop a flight to Vegas and were married in an ugly chapel while dressed in head to toe spandex.

That last one might have been a dream.

Still. It was better than the usual nightmares.

Wade gave up on sleep a little after 10am, which was still early for him after a busy Friday night. Normally, he would get up and harass Al a while, but she was out for the day doing old lady things—a category that included occasionally going to a gun range. How the hell she could even get in a gun range while blind was both confusing and horrifying, but it was a thing that happened now and then when her lifelong man-squeeze, Roy or Ray or something like that, was in town from Maine.

He checked his phone and saw that Nate had texted him back around 6 o'clock. Wade's last message was a question about what time he would be back in the city.

 ** _Cable:_** _Just got to the terminal. Going to catch some sleep. Do you want to ride together or meet me at the gate?_

Wade thought about it for a minute. It had been a long time since Wade drove anything other than an old woman to slow, creeping insanity. Lately, he relied on his friend Dopinder to take him everywhere. Now and then, Neena or Weasel would give him a ride to work if the weather was shitty, but being summer, it wasn't much of a problem. Then again, he had no idea how far out of the way it would be for Nate. Then there was the fact that Wade had only met him once in person. Yes, their text conversations had been interesting, but was Wade really ready to be picked up like some 50's date? Should he break out the poodle skirt and pom poms?

 ** _Me:_** _[Maps Link]_ _If it isn't out of your way, sure. I'll leave it up to your professional discretion._

He grabbed a box of cereal and poured a bowl, then opened the refrigerator to find that there was no milk other than some that was so dead he did not want to consider how long it had been hiding in the back. The cereal went back in the box, minus a handful that he shoved in his mouth as he searched for something else to eat. Al said something about ordering groceries, but Wade wasn't really paying attention. It had been a long time since he felt hungry. For some reason, he was starving.

In the end, Wade settled on grilled cheese because that was what seemed to be readily available. The bread was fairly fresh, the cheese was without mold. He buttered up a couple slices while the griddle warmed, and put the first one down when his phone vibrated.

 ** _C_** ** _able:_** _You're not far from me. Pick you up at 5?_

Sweet Odin, it sounded like a date. Wade fidgeted a minute, trying to figure out how he should respond. Then again, it was no different than when Neena or Weasel picked him up, right? It's not like hitching a ride equates to a relationship. He decided to be both amenable and a little snarky.

 ** _Me:_** _Sounds good. Get some sleep. Don't want you asleep at the wheel._

The response came back just as Wade was about to flip his grilled cheese, and he dropped the spatula to grab the phone.

 ** _Cable:_** _Your faith in me is astounding, Wade._

Wade laughed and was about to respond with another snarky comment about misplaced faith when he smelled his sandwich burning. He cussed and grabbed the spatula to flip it, and found that he'd burned one side almost to ashes. He frowned, then decided to snap a picture of it to send to Nate.

 ** _Me:_** _[picture]_ _I feel like a god with this lovely burnt offering. Do not ever have faith in my culinary skills._ _**Cable:**_ _I thought you were the king of pancakes?_ _**Me:**_ _Pancakes. Nothing else. My kingdom is a Canadian stereotype. There's even a mote made of maple syrup_ _**Cable:**_ _I make passable Mexican food and decent breakfast. That's it._

Wade's heart did a funny little flip at that comment. The way to his heart was always through his stomach, usually via Mexican food. Vanessa made the best enchiladas ever, though she always insisted on putting a ton of vegetables in a taco. Lettuce just wasn't authentic, and it was a frequent playful argument they had. It did not escape his attention that despite his normal routine, Wade was not about to bawl at the memory. That was unusual.

Wade threw away the burnt sandwich and made another, grabbed a bottle of coke from the fridge and plopped down on the couch to watch a couple episodes of _Golden Girls_ on TVLand. Despite his level of love for Bea Arthur, Wade found that he could not concentrate on the show. Nor could he really remember to eat the food in his lap. It was strange, but he felt kind of excited about seeing Nate, and he wasn't excited about anything these days. Wade knew (even without his friends telling him) that he was just going through the motions of life. He went to work. He slept. He brushed his teeth when it occurred to him, but mostly, he just kind of existed.

It was the change in routine, Wade decided. The change in routine was welcome.

A little after 3 o'clock, Neena came through the door. She never knocked. Or if she did knock, it was only because she needed someone to open the door and not because it was polite. She was dressed for bar tending on a Saturday. She was never the type to do the sexy thing, even if she won the genetic lottery and didn't have a choice in the matter. But Saturday nights she always wore something to accentuate the boobs, which always resulted in a 30% increase in tips at the bar and a 30% increase in Wade having to escort assholes out of the building. Not tonight, though. Tonight, Buck was on duty, along with Bob and a couple other guys that Weasel brought in on occasion.

The rumor had spread that Wade Wilson had a date.

"You ready for the big game?" Neena asked as she flopped down on the couch beside him.

Wade looked at her and said, "It's the Mets and Cardinals. It's regular season play. Nothing about the game is big."

"Other than it kind of being a date," Neena said with a smirk.

"Not a date," Wade insisted. It wasn't. Nothing about his and Nate's interactions indicated anything about this being a date at all. That was all other people's imaginations. Other than Nate referring to it as "something vaguely resembling a date," before Wade established that he wasn't ready for that—even though he eventually agreed to join him. And yeah, they were riding together, but that was just convenience and economic. Wade said, "If it was a date, I would have shaved my legs and put on my sexy undies, and I left my floaty heart thong in the drawer."

"I thought you didn't have body hair?" she said.

He rolled his head on the back of the couch to look at her. "Perhaps I should have said 'exfoliate'?"

She laughed. "At least you're dressed like someone from this decade."

"I'll just point out that the guy asked me out while I was dressed like a thrift store mannequin, so I wouldn't throw out my fashion sense just yet," Wade said with a smirk.

A smirk that vanished when Neena said, "If he asked you out, and you said yes, it is a date, Wade."

Wade frowned. "It's not a date. Just two dudes doing a very dudely thing together."

"A dudely thing? He hates baseball and you hate the teams playing," Neena said with a chuckle.

"Exactly! What is more dudely than schadenfreude and getting drunk at a ball park?" Wade said, but he could tell that Neena still wasn't buying it. "I'm buying my own beer?"

"What are you going to do if you end up on the Kiss Cam?" Neena asked with a twinkle in her eye. It was funny, really, because Neena and Ness had been besties forever. They went to school together. Spent time in the same foster home together. Went to juvie (briefly) together. And now, Neena was the one cheering for Wade in the department of moving on.

It made Wade finally ask, "Why do you want this to happen so badly?"

Neena put an arm around his shoulders and said, "Because it is what Ness would want."

"Are you sure about that?" Wade said. He huffed a laugh. "I mean, when I went in for surgery and had to sign that shit for the anesthesiologist, she told me I better not fuck Elvis if I died."

Neena laughed and wiped a tear, and said, "Well, to be fair, Cable is not Elvis."

"You never know, maybe he's got that hip action," Wade said, and he and Neena both laughed. Then Wade sobered and said, "I don't want to get all worked up over this, okay? I mean, aren't rebounds the worst?"

"'Rebound' implies something immediate," Neena said.

Wade sighed. "It still _feels_ immediate."

"Just give it a chance," Neena said as she wiped a tear from his left cheek. Then her eyes brightened and she said, "How about we ask her?"

Wade sniffed and said, "What?"

"The token," Neena said. "The one that you carry everywhere, that you used to use as a tie breaker all the time? Flip it and see what the answer is."

The skeeball token was in Wade's pocket, and he took it out with a frown on his face. How many times had he and Ness flipped it for silly things. Where to eat. What color shirt to buy. What movie to see. Golden Girls or Gilmore Girls. Wade looked at it for a moment, then his eyes flicked up to the ceiling as if trying to see into Heaven. Feeling silly and a little on the spot, Wade said, "Okay, Ness, give me your opinion. Should I call this thing a date?"

Wade flipped the coin high in the air, caught it and slapped it on the back of his left hand. He waited a moment, his heart suddenly pounding at the thought of what might be under it. As if Vanessa was standing over his shoulder impatiently asking, _So what's the answer, sexy?_

"You didn't say what heads or tails is," Neena pointed out before Wade lifted his hand.

Wade sighed. It was always the same. "Home of Fun is Yes; No Cash Value is No."

He lifted his hand.

 _Home of Fun._

"The token has spoken," Neena said with a grin.

"Best out of three," Wade said as he flipped it again. Catch. Slap. _Home of Fun._ His brow drew together and he said, "It's just chance, you know. If I flipped it enough times, it would eventually level out to an even number."

Neena patted his cheek. "Keep telling yourself that, but I think you know what Ness would say. And it can still be two dudes doing dudely things until you want to change the terminology." Then she smirked and said, "Still, he has to be triggering your Daddy-kink."

Wade was startled. "Did Ness tell you about that?"

Neena's eyebrow raised. "Why do you think I know he's perfect for you?"

"I don't know," Wade said. "I figured it was all that Lady Luck bullshit you're always spouting."

"Luck is my superpower," she said as she stood.

"Luck is a lame superpower," Wade said for the thousandth time since he'd known her. "Are you leaving? Not going to hang out? Give Nate the shovel talk?"

"I'll let you fret in peace." Neena laughed and added before stepping out the door, "You better give me all the details about this non-date of yours."

"Just check my Instagram," Wade replied.

When Neena left, Wade realized he only had an hour or so to kill before it was time to leave. The time was so near that Wade could feel his anxiety starting to rise, so he decided to clean. It's not that his place was trashed out; he had to keep things picked up for Al's sake if nothing else. Still, _his_ bedroom was a wasteland. He couldn't remember the last time he changed his sheets, and he most certainly didn't dwell too hard on why he was thinking about the condition of his bed. This was not that kind of date. It _wasn't_ a date.

He could almost hear Vanessa's voice saying, _Whatever you need to tell yourself, big boy._

Then Nate texted him that he was leaving his place, and Wade found that his heart was pounding and his palms were sweating. The initial impulse was to call it all off; he was too nervous, too scared, too _everything_ to do this. But he didn't. He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and stare at his face. Everyone insisted that, despite the scars, he was still okay to look at. At one point, Ness told him he looked like Ryan Reynolds. Now, post-cancer, he felt more like Ryan Reynolds' love child with a Shar Pei.

Wade gripped the sides of the sink and said, "Are you really okay with this, Ness?"

One last time, Wade flipped the token.

 _Home of Fun._

He rubbed his thumb across the letters then wrapped his hand around it and shook his head as a laugh bubbled up from inside him. Wade was not much of a believer in anything, but he always believed in Vanessa. Maybe, just maybe, she still believed in him.

* * *

Despite his stated desire to sleep, Nate found that sleep was difficult. Gun to his head, he would never admit that it was because of nerves. There was never a time in his life when Nate felt nervous about doing any activity with another human being. He tried to convince himself it was because of the crowds and his dislike of the game, but a traitorous voice inside called him a liar because he'd been looking forward to this all week.

Around 2 in the afternoon, he gave up on sleep and got out of bed with only a slight groan, and walked barefoot to the bathroom and squinted at the bright light coming in through the bathroom window. He kept his bedroom dark with a combination of blackout curtains and strategically placed poster board. A shave and a shower later, and Nate stood in the kitchen with a gray towel wrapped around his hips as he let the air thoroughly dry the scarred skin of his left shoulder.

Using his teeth as a second hand, Nate tore open a packet of coffee he saved from the last room he stayed in and started a pot on the counter. His apartment was spotless, which was partially due to him only being there a couple days a week, but also because he was a habitual cleaner. Hope's room was always a little bit of a mess, but he chalked that up to being a teenager, and he didn't really care so long as there was no food or anything that would cause an odor involved. Clutter he could tolerate.

Over the years, Nate learned a lot of ways to compensate for having only one arm. He was good at flipping eggs in a frying pan without breaking the yolks or bothering with a spatula. It was a trick that always left Hope a little amazed, but not so much as his ability to tie his shoes one-handed. Hope sat beside him one day trying and trying to pull off the movements, but in the end she decided that he was using telepathy to tie his shoes because that level of manual dexterity was unhuman.

More often than was absolutely necessary, Nate checked the time. Every time, it was only a few minutes later. He knew that he needed to leave his place at 4:40 to get to Wade's place by 5 o'clock. He also knew that he needed to figure out a way to be a little less jittery when he finally made his way there.

For this not being a date, Nate certainly felt like a teenage boy before prom. Hell, he was never a nervous teenage boy, either. Back then, he was nothing but reckless confidence and unearned pride. His twin brother, Chris, told him he had a Messiah complex, because he thought he was God's gift to humanity and Chris had the spine of a jellyfish. Back then, Nate didn't deny it. Now, he knew how it felt for life to grind him down. In some ways, his edges were smoothed and refined; in others, he was brittle and easily broken.

Nothing in his life was more humbling than waking up in a military hospital missing his left arm with half his body shredded by shrapnel, and having to call a nurse to help him to the bathroom. Pride, or at least the childish pride of youth, disappeared. It was an adjustment, and it was a hard one to make.

Truthfully, Irene was just another casualty of a war he was still fighting. They met when he was in a bad place physically and mentally, and she was the kind who couldn't help but care for the broken things. But Nate was far more broken than she anticipated, and when it came down to it, Nate was a terrible husband. He had regrets, but he would never say he regretted their relationship because Hope was the result, and he loved his daughter more than life itself.

He wondered what Hope would think about him dating another man. Sexuality was something that he had discussed with her, mainly because he wanted her to know that regardless of who she loved, he would always love her and she would always be welcome and protected. Hope was a little embarrassed talking to him about the subject, but since then, she was very open about her thoughts concerning relationships. So far, most of her interests have been little more than crushes, though she did confess to kissing a boy named Emil at the spring formal dance. The part of him that was an overprotective dad wanted to interview the young man, his parents, and do a complete background check, but he pushed down that impulse because he knew that it would only make her less likely to communicate about that part of her life.

Communicating with her about this part of _his_ life would wait until there was _actually_ something to talk about.

Nate checked the time again. 4:30. _Close enough,_ he decided and walked out the door. A little early wasn't a bad thing, he figured. It would give him time to fill up the truck. Maybe wash it, even if it was a rust bucket. He'd had the truck for nearly 15 years, and it wasn't new back then either. He liked it because it was from the era before everything was connected to computers, so he could fix it without needing tech support.

He arrived at Wade's house at 4:55. It was an older duplex with a small front porch and yard. There was no other vehicle in the drive, but Nate still parked on the street.

For a moment, he debated if he should go to the front door and knock or just send Wade a text to let him know he was there. Going to the door felt like something you do when you are more familiar with another person, however the text seemed very impersonal.

Nate got out of the truck and started towards the door. He made it halfway before Wade came out wearing a Toronto Blue Jays jersey, and Nate couldn't help the laugh.

"Fancy seeing you here," Wade said, meeting him halfway. "I swear I wasn't staring out the window and gnawing my nails in nervous anticipation of your impending arrival."

"I didn't leave my house fifteen minutes earlier than necessary, either," Nate said. His heart was suddenly pounding.

The smile Wade gave him did a lot to alleviate Nate's nerves. He looked comfortable, and that was a good sign, considering some of the worries that Wade expressed over the course of the week. Nate said, "Shall we get on the road?"

Wade grinned and started walking as he said, "That seems like such a trucker thing to say."

Nate shrugged. "It kind of is."


	4. Chapter 4

Generally speaking, Wade Wilson preferred to be a passenger as opposed to a driver. This was the result of growing up in a big city like Toronto, where everything was conveniently located and what wasn't nearby was easily accessed by public transit. It wasn't until he joined the army that he learned to drive, but he still preferred to ride as opposed to drive. This does not mean that Wade likes the driving habits of most people.

Dopinder was prone to road rage when on multilane roads, which always made Wade a little nervous. Neena would occasionally text and drive, which Wade did not approve of—though she stopped doing it in recent history. And Weasel…Wade wasn't sure how Weasel even had a license. Thus, Wade usually spent his time feeling a little anxious when going down the road. It was very common for him to grip the door handle or clamp onto the seat when someone passed too close or he noticed the speedometer was substantially above what seemed safe and sane. This was what Wade was used to.

Riding with Nate was a different story. Maybe it was the fact that Nate did it for a living, or maybe it was the easy way that he had behind the wheel. His awareness of the road conditions was obvious. Normally Wade was flinching and gripping the door, but Nate kept a good amount of space between the truck and everyone else. He kept a steady speed. He didn't change lanes needlessly. He was relaxed, and didn't have even the remotest hint of road-rage. Wade found that after a couple miles, he was completely comfortable.

The idea made him laugh.

"What?" Nate said, his eyes still on the road but a smile on his face.

"Nothing," Wade said. Then he laughed again. "It's just…you are literally the best driver I've ever ridden with."

Nate glanced at him and said, "Does that surprise you?"

Wade shrugged. "It shouldn't, considering you're a truck-drivin' man."

Nate laughed at that. "It probably helps that this is the route I take to work. The company is just past the stadium."

Wade cleared his throat and hesitantly said, "I tend to… I just get nervous in cars, and I'm not nervous."

"Good," Nate said. "I would prefer you comfortable."

"Me too," Wade said. They were quiet for a moment, and Wade wondered at what point this would start to feel awkward. Nate wasn't much of a talker. He kept his answers short and to the point. Wade was the talker. Some might say that he talked way too much. He asked, "How many miles do you think you've driven in your lifetime?"

"A little over 3 million in my career," Nate answered. He huffed a laugh, and said, "I just passed a million for Askani."

Wade's eyes went wide. "Seriously?"

"I do between 100K and 150K every year," Nate said.

"Holy shit!" Wade said, laughing out of shock and surprise. "That's fucking crazy. Don't you ever get tired of it?"

Nate shrugged. "Now and then. Usually in winter."

"All the ice and snow?" Wade asked.

Nate huffed. Wade recognized it as amused. He kind of liked Nate's huffing. "Usually it's the idiots who don't know how to drive on the ice and snow more than the actual weather that's a pain in the ass."

They parked in one of the many parking garages surrounding the stadium, and Nate waved Wade off when he offered to pay the fee. The line for the elevators was long, and neither Wade nor Nate balked at the thought of taking the stairs. Outside the garage, the street was thick with people in red and white and blue and orange shirts. Here and there were street performers, ticket scalpers, and clusters of families with enthusiastic children hyped up for the game.

Wade stayed close to Nate, occasionally bumping into his side. It was hard to talk with all the traffic and noise, so it was a mostly quiet jaunt into the outer part of the stadium. It was…companionable. Every time they bumped shoulders, Nate would glance at him and a subtle look would cross his stern features, like he was happy but had a hard time showing it around others. Wade was intrigued by him. Strangely, it reminded him of when he met Vanessa. She had lived a hard life and always kept her feelings buried behind an impenetrable wall of defense that took Wade years to break through. Wade, for better or worse, always wore his heart on his sleeve and hid behind jokes when things started to hurt.

At the gate, both Wade and Nate emptied their pockets into the trays before passing through the metal detectors. Nate set it off anyway, and that stern look got a little sharper when he raised his shirt sleeve to show the mechanism of his prosthetic. The security guard waved him on.

"Does that ever get annoying?" Wade asked as they walked towards the ramp leading to the concessions area.

Nate shrugged and gave a thin smile. "It was in the beginning, but not so much anymore. The only time I got pissed about it was the last time I flew and some shithead TSA agent wanted me to remove it."

"Asshole," Wade said. "Just to fuck with them, next time you fly, get a cannon attachment."

Nate laughed. "That sounds like something my daughter would request at Halloween."

"Smart kid," Wade said.

Nate nodded, and the two found a short line. Wade realized he wasn't as nervous as he thought he would be. Nate was easy for him to be around. Comfortable. Safe. It wasn't like he was this giant super soldier from the future or anything. He was a little shorter than Wade, but the guy had a presence that made him seem like an anchor. Wade liked that.

After getting a beer each and a couple orders of nachos, they went to find their seats. They were decent seats, in Wade's opinion. Right beside third base, right up front. Wade just wished it was better teams playing. They settled in and Wade propped his feet up on the wall.

"So why don't you like baseball?" Wade asked.

Nate took a drink and said, "I used to play a long time ago."

"Bad coach?" Wade asked.

"The worst," Nate answered. "My father."

"That sounds like a story for after a couple more beers," Wade said.

Nate shrugged. "It isn't that complex. My father was the high school coach, and he wanted me to be like my twin brother, Chris, and go to college on a scholarship. I wanted to drink and fight, and so I joined the military."

Wade picked up on one detail in there. "Did you say _twin_ brother?"

"Yeah. Identical." He frowned. "Or at least we started out that way."

 _Oh. Sore spot_. Wade could see it in Nate's face, though he doubted it was really the looks part that bothered him. "Sibling rivalry?"

"Understatement," Nate said. He sighed. "As I said, he followed my father's plan and I didn't. I'm the black sheep, but not just for that. My family…" He sighed. Wade would figure it out eventually. "My family does not approve of my varied tastes in relationships, and my brother is the most vocal about his homophobia."

"Damn," Wade said. "That's shitty. That's why I've always said Family is the biggest f-word. I mean, my dad was a general, but I barely knew anything about him other than he was a general. Never met him, either. At least, I don't think I did. My mom abandoned me, which was probably the best thing she ever did for me. The army was good for me, though. I ended up in special forces and did a lot of work with Americans in Afghanistan and Iraq. That's how I met Domino. I speak Farsi and Pashto, so I was pretty handy to have around."

"How many languages do you speak?" Nate asked. He liked how fast Wade changed subjects.

"Seven," Wade answered like it was nothing. "Well, seven fluently. I mean, I'm Canadian and my mother was from Quebec, so I speak French and English. The Farsi and Pashto I learned from my neighbor growing up in Toronto. I picked up Spanish, German, and Russian when I was in the army. I also know enough Japanese to get by and probably enough Mandarin to get myself in trouble."

Nate was thoroughly impressed. "Most people I know can barely speak one language."

"What can I say? I have a talented tongue," Wade said. Then he realized what he just said. The look on Nate's face was something like amused. He cleared his throat and said, "You, uh, kind of need that when speaking different languages with all those glottal stops and rolling Rs and such, you know? It is a handy way to accidentally impress someone." Wade was suddenly talking too much, and he couldn't stop himself before saying, "When I first met Vanessa, I read the disclosure statement on a receipt to her in French, and she thought it was a love poem. I really…" Wade fell silent upon realizing what he just said. He coughed. "I, uh… Sorry. I… I didn't mean to—"

"You don't have to apologize, Wade," Nate said. He was so sincere.

"Isn't that a dating no-no, though?" Wade said with a nervous laugh. "Talking about old relationships, I mean."

Nate shrugged. "It doesn't bother me. Hell, I think it would be strange if you _didn't_ talk about her. Then again, I'm often called 'socially awkward' because I spend so much time alone, so I may be the exception if there is a rule."

Wade took a thoughtful drink of beer. "It's strange. I mean, most people get weird when I bring her up."

"Most people can't handle their own shit, let alone someone else's," Nate said.

"True facts," Wade said. He leaned back in his seat and stared at the barrier wall in front of him. After a moment he looked at Nate and said, "Thanks. I promise I won't, like, burst into tears or anything. That would be a little weird on a first date."

Nate gave him a thoughtful look.

Wade amended, "Or, you know, whatever this is."

"I'll leave that up to you," Nate said. He had that subtle smile that made Wade feel funny inside, and it wasn't just the beer or late afternoon sun.

He said, "Let's not apply labels."

"Works for me," Nate said and they clinked bottles to solidify the notion.

They were quiet for a couple minutes as the players were announced. The game started with the usual patriotic fanfare, and after the first pitch, neither Wade nor Nate were paying much attention to the game. They spent most of their time talking about whatever random subject came up. Well, Wade did most of the talking, but Nate kept asking questions like he was interested in hearing what Wade had to say. Generally speaking, most people were eager for him to shut up.

Top of the third inning, Wade started asking more questions of Nate. Mostly, Nate talked about his daughter, Hope. The way he lit up when he mentioned her was kind of adorable to Wade. Or maybe Wade was slowly becoming besotted with the man sitting beside him. It was a strange thought.

Nate confessed, "Hope was originally going to come with me to this, but she decided she wanted to switch weekends so she could go to the lake."

"Is it bad that I feel like I won here?" Wade asked as he took a drink, finishing off his second beer.

"I feel that this outcome is acceptable," Nate said. He almost looked embarrassed, but he was smiling.

Wade grinned. "Acceptable works. I need to run to the head. You want another beer?"

Nate smiled. "That would also be acceptable." He reached for his wallet and Wade waved him off.

"You get the next one," Wade said, and he took off towards the nearest restroom. Despite the crowds and the mediocre teams, Wade was having an excellent time. He wasn't thinking about ways to get the hell out of here or politely tell Nate that he didn't want to hang out any more. In fact, all Wade could think about was enjoying the rest of the evening.

* * *

When Wade left, Nate felt like kicking himself. _Acceptable_. Jesus. This whole thing was more than acceptable. Nate really enjoyed Wade's company. For only knowing him for a week, and this being only the second time in the same physical space, Wade felt like an old friend. He had an easy way about him that was refreshing and Nate was heavily conflicted. _Wade_ seemed heavily conflicted. He may be reluctant to call this anything but friendship, but there was something about his mannerisms that made it all feel… Hell, Nate couldn't even put it to words. Not even in his head.

Nate tried to focus on the game, but baseball couldn't hold his interest on his best day. He was wrapped up in his thoughts and didn't even know why half the crowd was suddenly cheering. He looked towards the field and saw that one of the Cardinals players was now on third base. A run scored. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

 ** _Hope:_** _How's the game?_

 ** _Me:_** _I have no idea._

 ** _Hope:_** _LOL! Did your friend come with you? I should have gone with you. Mom and Hammer are fighting._

Nate frowned at that. Not that his ex-wife's relationship was any of his concern. He just didn't like it when Hope got put in the middle of things. It was one of many reasons he didn't introduce his daughter to the people he dated.

 ** _Me:_** _Do you need a rescue?_

 ** _Hope:_** _Negative. Or are you trying to escape a shitty date?_

Nate shifted in his seat and looked over his shoulder just as Wade appeared at the top of the stairs. Involuntarily, he smiled. He looked back at his phone and typed a quick reply.

 ** _Me:_** _Language. And no, I'm not._

 ** _Hope:_** _OOOOOOO! Is this serious? Do I get to meet this one?_

Nate could feel his face warming. He was 100% unprepared for this conversation. Yes, he told his daughter that he was going to the game with someone, but he was certain he did not refer to it as a date. Then again, Hope could read him like a book.

 ** _Me:_** _I don't think we're quite at the meeting the family stage. We've only known each other a week._

 ** _Hope:_** _Twue wuv has no time limit ::heart eyes::_

 ** _Me:_** _I should have never let you watch Princess Bride. Let me know if you need a rescue. Love you, kid._

 ** _Hope:_** _Likewise. Love you, too 3_

Wade plopped down beside him just as Nate tucked his phone away. He handed Nate a beer and said, "Are you reporting in?"

Nate laughed. "Something like that. My daughter. She's checking up on me."

"That's adorable," Wade said. "I'm supposed to give a full report to Domino." He gave a half smile and asked somewhat hesitantly, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Absolutely," Nate said.

Wade smiled as if he came to a decision and said, "Yeah, me too."

Innings passed. Nate switched to water because he needed to drive, and Wade followed suit because he was grumbling about having a squirrel bladder and needing to run to the bathroom every inning. That's how Nate learned a little about Wade's fight with cancer. A particularly malignant type of skin cancer that left him close to dead several times, and the chemo and radiation played hell on his system. Now and then, he would mention Vanessa and Nate could feel the tug in his heart for the loss his companion had suffered. There were so many things that Nate wanted to know, but that was for Wade to tell in his own time. They had plenty of time for the details.

At some point, Nate realized that the game was over and the stands were starting to empty. For the first time all night, he felt the sting of disappointment. It seemed like only minutes later they were in Wade's driveway. Wade was telling him a story about something that happened when he was a young man in the army while hanging around with a guy named Logan who was very fond of knives, and Nate was laughing at things that probably weren't funny, but it all felt so comfortable and right that it didn't even matter. If he had his way, they would talk all night.

"This was…" Wade started. Shaking his head. "I had a great time. With you. Tonight."

A warm feeling settled into Nate's chest. He said, "Me too."

Wade grinned and they both looked at each other. Nate had the strong desire to do something to punctuate this moment. It would be so easy to pull Wade across the seat and kiss him. But he wasn't going to make the first move in that regard.

Wade asked, "So are you going to walk me to the door like a proper gentleman?"

"Absolutely," Nate said as he opened his door. He met Wade on the other side of the truck and the two of them walked. They didn't talk much, but there was barely a breath between them.

At the door, Wade looked at him, his eyes shining in the porch light. "I would… I want… Would you—Shit! I'm all tongue-tied." He laughed nervously, and said, "Do you want to do this again? I mean, maybe not a baseball game, but like you and me hanging out in a manner vaguely resembling a date?"

Nate tried to fight the grin and keep his face neutral hearing his own words come back his direction. It didn't work because he was smiling like an idiot. "I would like that."

"When are you going to be back again?" Wade asked, his voice almost giddy. "Next weekend?"

"I have my daughter next weekend," Nate said. He expected disappointment; the few people he'd dated since the divorce were never very understanding about Hope. But Wade just nodded, taking in the information without a blink of impatience. Nate continued, "I usually have a mid-week layover here, only about 12 hours or so, and I don't know what time it will be, but if you'd like to get together then…"

"Sounds good to me," Wade said without hesitation. "Whenever works for you. I'm flexible like that."

Nate nodded, his hand flexing at his side a moment before he held out his hand to Wade. _Handshake. That's a proper parting gesture, right?_ Wade took it, but Nate didn't expect Wade to pull him into a hug. Suddenly, Nate forgot how he was supposed to behave when being hugged. It was unexpected to say the least, and Nate knew he made it more awkward than necessary, but he finally remembered to participate. Hope always said he was an awkward hugger. The moment his arm wrapped around Wade's waist, he could feel the tension leaving Wade. It relaxed him a little bit, too.

"You are solid as a rock," Wade said gleefully as he rested his head against Nate's shoulder. Nate tried to not laugh. Wade squeezed Nate's right upper arm and he let out a low whistle. "We're going to have to work out together some time, because I need to know what you do to get this ripped."

Nate chuckled to himself as his face warmed. It had been a while since someone complimented his physique. He wasn't a vain man, but it was still nice to hear. He was also wondering how long he was supposed to hug someone. He said, "I would not be opposed to that idea."

Wade cleared his throat and straightened, and gave his upper arms—both flesh and prosthetic—a squeeze before stepping back and saying, "Thank you. For tonight. It was good, and I know this goes against protocols and whatever, but I kind of can't wait to see you again. Now, I'm going to go inside because if I don't, I'm going to end up doing something I shouldn't."

While he knew that there was very little Wade could do that he would not approve of, Nate knew that Wade needed time. And after this, Nate knew that he would give him all the time he needed for as long as he needed.

Nate Summers was smitten. He smiled. "Goodnight, Wade."

"Goodnight, Nate," Wade said as he stepped inside.

Nate walked back to his truck feeling like he could almost fly.

* * *

Once inside, Wade leaned against the door with a dopey smile on his face. He felt like he was in orbit. He couldn't explain it and didn't want to try. His face was burning like he had a fever. He hadn't felt like this since… well, since Ness.

For once, that didn't hurt.


	5. Chapter 5

Wednesday nights were often busy at Sister Margaret's for two reasons: 1) No cover charge, and 2) Weasel had the Hump Day special, which was $5 domestic pints. The "special" wasn't really a special, because domestic pints usually ran $3.50, but because so few of the patrons on Wednesday showed up any other nights of the week, no one really noticed the upcharge. Weasel often joked that it was the "college kid surcharge" because they made up a good portion of the clientele that night, and Weasel thought they were annoying, so he didn't feel guilty about the false advertisement. Weasel didn't feel very guilty about anything, which is how he earned his nickname.

The thing about college kids that Wade liked was that they typically didn't want to get too rowdy with the bouncers, and they were just close enough to mama's skirts to still cringe when an adultier adult scowled at them—especially when that adult had enough scars to prove he didn't give a shit about getting a few more if someone decided to be a dick. Still, there were always the ones who thought the world was their oyster and wanted to break the rules, and Wade was more than happy to break their skulls like an oyster if necessary. He was currently on a 13-day streak without sending someone to the ER, and as closing time approached, he had the feeling he was going to make it to day 14. Five more days, and it would be a record.

It also helped that Wade was in a good mood, mainly because Nate was on his way to the city. He was going to be in town around 3:00AM-ish, and Wade told him to feel free to come to his place because he would most likely still be awake and unlikely to fall asleep. He was practically skipping as he escorted the ladies to their cars, helped Weasel restock the back case, and stacked glasses behind the counter. The joy he felt only increased when he checked his phone and found a message from Nate.

 ** _Cable:_** _I'm fueling up and about to drive into a hail storm that is headed your way. Call me when you can._

The message was from about 30 minutes ago, so Wade knew that he was driving by now. Nate was highly against texting and driving, which Wade was very happy about. He also knew that Nate used a hands-free headset when he wasn't listening to _Alice Isn't Dead_ or some other podcast or audiobook.

Wade started to tuck in his earbuds when Weasel said, "Are you seriously leaving without your pay?"

"I figured you'd keep my cash warm for me," Wade said. He headed to the bar and grabbed the envelope from Weasel.

"Hot date?" Weasel asked, smiling and nodding like he was in on a big conspiracy.

Wade propped his elbows on the bar, resting his chin on one hand with a dreamy expression as he said, "The hottest. I'm taking Al to an after-midnight sauna that only plays doo-wop music. It's called Sweating to the Oldies, and before you ask: no, Richard Simmons isn't getting the royalties he deserves."

"I don't really want to think about that or see it," Weasel said with a frown.

"It's a geriatric paradise," Wade said as he straightened up and dusted peanut crumbs off his elbows, then headed out into the drizzling rain. Off in the distance he could see the strobe of lightning in the south between buildings. He put in an earbud and dialed Nate's number.

On the second ring, Nate answered with, "You would not believe this weather."

Wade couldn't help but smile at the annoyed tone of Nate's voice. He said, "It's only sprinkling here. Is it storming?"

"Storming is a goddamn understatement," Nate said. Not annoyed. Kind of intense. "I've been in hail for the last thirty miles. I think the fucking cloud is following me." Just then, Wade could hear Nate's radio announce a Tornado Watch. Nate said, "And yeah, there's a fucking tornado watch."

"And you're hauling explosives," Wade said, trying to not laugh, though the wind was definitely picking up a little.

Nate said, "And corrosives."

Wade shook his head as the rain started to fall in earnest. He put up his hood and wondered if he should have just called Dopinder. "This sounds like the plot of a Mad Max movie. Are you going to start shouting slogans about chrome and gasoline or something?"

"Ha." Nate was quiet a moment, then cussed under his breath. "I have the makings of the biggest goddamn firecracker on Earth, and I'm not in the mood for a Viking funeral."

"Maybe you need to pray to Thor, get some of that Ass-guardian protection," Wade suggested.

"I don't think that is how it is pronounced," Nate said. Then he blurted, "Holy fuck! A transformer just popped."

Wade couldn't help himself. "Was it Optimus Prime? You know, he was a trucker, too."

"I liked him better as a cab-over," Nate said. Then he let out a string of cuss words.

Wade really didn't mean to laugh, but he did anyway. Nate was a secret nerd. "Trouble? Is it the Decepticons? Road Warriors?"

Nate huffed a laugh. "Nah, just the wind. My back trailer is swaying."

"Is this a normal thing for you?" Wade asked. He might be joking, but he really didn't like the danger factor. "How far away are you?"

"About twenty miles from the terminal," he answered. There was some rattling and noises in the background, and Nate said, "And yeah, this is kind of typical for this time of year."

"Please tell me you're listening to heavy metal right now," Wade said.

Nate was silent and Wade could almost see the half-scowl, half-amused look. He could hear it in his voice when he said, "Why would that be important?"

"For my mental image," Wade said. "I'm thinking something by Pantera. Or maybe Marty Robbins."

"There is a very wide musical gulf between those two options, Wade," Nate said, a laugh in his voice. "Let me guess, 'Ghost Riders in the Sky'?"

"I was thinking 'The Master's Call' by Marty, or maybe "Drag the Waters" by Pantera, but I like where your mind is." Wade ducked into an alley, a shortcut that trimmed the distance by almost half, though it was kind of the dark and scary part of this niche of the woods. With the way the rain was coming down, he was the only one dumb enough to be walking in it. The rain was almost drowning out the scent of the garbage that had yet to be picked up. Almost. "You're probably going to be tired when you get here."

"Only a little," Nate said. "If I fall asleep at your place, don't be offended."

That thought gave Wade a little bit of a funny feeling inside. Mainly because Nate wasn't going to cancel, which was awesome. When Nate told him that he would be in town in the middle of the night, Wade kind of figured they'd reschedule their mid-week hangout-date-thing until a different time. But Wade was a night owl, and that worked with Nate's strange hours.

Wade said, "My couch is excellent for napping, by the way, though you might have to kick Al off to really stretch out and get the full effect."

Nate laughed, the sound crackling a little with signal distortion from another lightning bolt. He said, "I am not opposed to that, though I am not sure that is the best way to meet Al."

Wade told Nate a little bit about his roommate/mother hen. Mainly that she was blind, sarcastic, and very well armed. "If you're really quiet, she won't even know you're there. Until the snoring starts, at least."

"I don't think I snore," Nate said.

"I do." Wade laughed. He cleared the alley just as thunder boomed above him. He involuntarily jumped. Talking a little louder, he said, "I sound like a hibernating grizzly bear. Always go to sleep before me, for your own sanity. You know, if we're napping at the same time."

Wade was absolutely certain that he would not be able to nap beside Nate Summers. He was pretty sure that he would end up being hyper and need to get up and bounce around or something. He's napped with many of his friends, though. It's not like he hasn't fallen asleep on the couch with Al, or Neena, or even Weasel a few times. Then there was that one time he woke up snuggling with Dopinder and neither of them have talked about that at all.

Nate chuckled and said, "I'll keep your snoring in mind. Are you walking?"

"Yeah, didn't want to wait for a ride," Wade said as he stepped onto his porch and removed his hood. "Also figured the rain would wash the glitter off. I swear I breathe it in. If I sneeze, it will look magical."

"I almost want to see that," Nate said, a laugh still in his voice. Wade liked that he could make Nate laugh. "I probably should hang up, though. The rain is getting worse and I need to focus on the road. I should be at your place around 2:30, if that works for you."

"Sounds good," Wade said with a smile. "I, uh, yeah. I'll see you soon."

"See you soon," Nate echoed.

Wade walked inside and saw Al was rummaging around in the kitchen for the coffee that Wade had moved to the table. Al was one of those people who slept better with a heavy dose of caffeine; Wade figured it was an old lady thing. Wade used every bit of his stealth training to slip into the kitchen and carefully move the coffee towards her hand, then snuck behind her to move the coffee pot a foot to the left.

"I know you're in here fucking with me," Al grumbled. "Who was on the phone? Your boyfriend."

Wade hopped up on the counter, leaving a wet spot. He was soaked. "He's my manfriend. Trust me. Ain't nothing boyish about him. That's my job."

"Is 'boyish' a code for 'pain in my ass' now?" Al asked as she dumped a scoop of coffee onto the counter. She exhaled sharply out her nose and grumbled, "Motherfucker," before grabbing the coffee pot and sliding it to where it was supposed to be. "He's coming over tonight?"

"For a little bit," Wade said. He meant to sound nonchalant. He failed.

Al smiled briefly, then groused, "Well, don't be making too much noise."

Wade didn't miss the smile. He didn't point it out, though. "I wouldn't dream of getting between you and your weird late-night Matlock fetish."

"Better than your weird fetish for that unicorn," Al said as the coffee pot started to gurgle.

"Mr. Sparkles loves me," Wade said with a grin.

Al shook her head. "Mr. Sparkles probably needs a bath and some therapy."

"That's not true. I always give him a good wipe down and a cuddle."

"I'm never touching Craigslist again," Al grumbled.

Wade laughed and hopped down from the counter. He planted a loud smooch on the back of her head, then headed out of the kitchen towards his bedroom. His favorite pastime was messing with Althea. She was way too much fun to pester, and she dished it out as well as she could take it. Wade adored her, even if he would never tell her so. At least not verbally. He would absolutely put it in a card because he is, at his core, a complete asshole.

An asshole who maybe just suggested something resembling a nap-date with the most taciturn of fellows. Nate was also a taciturn breath of fresh air, really. Wade could feel a difference in himself, and while there was a nagging voice in his head telling him that this feeling wasn't going to last, that it was just those happy-hooray hormones everyone gets when they meet someone they like, he wanted to hold on to the feeling a while.

Still, Wade picked up his token and gave it a flip. _Is this still okay, Ness?_

"Heads or tails?" Al asked as she walked by his door.

Wade snorted. _Home of Fun._ "I could literally tell you anything and you'd never know if I was telling the truth."

"Tone of your voice says 'heads,' dumbass," she fired back.

* * *

Nate finally made it to the city terminal with the storm at his heels. It felt like he couldn't escape it, but he was still in a decent mood. He handed the truck over to the dock crew with the usual jokes about taking a couple sticks of dynamite for a July 4th party, and headed into the terminal to fill out the usual paperwork. The dispatcher, Terri (or Banshee, depending on who you ask), gave him a big smile as she said, "You're going to hate me, Cable."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because there's nothing for you tomorrow," she said.

Nate never took a day off that he didn't need to. Now and then, though, they wouldn't be able to turn him (send him on to another destination) because they either didn't have the freight or he didn't have the hours. Usually, this was an annoyance. This time, Nate didn't really mind at all.

He'd be damned if he showed it, though. He shrugged and said, "Fine with me. This weather is for ducks."

Terri raised a red eyebrow and said, "Are you feeling well?"

"Feeling just fine," he said nonchalantly as he signed the sheet.

"You've run a day cab to avoid going home," she said suspiciously.

Nate huffed. Terri frowned. Only Wade seemed to realize it was his version of a laugh. He said, "I have plans that no longer need to be rushed."

Terri smiled. "How is Hope? You haven't brought her by in a while. I think last I saw her she had those cute little pigtails."

"She has a bright green mohawk now," Nate said with a grin. He was the one who took her to a barber shop to get it done, much to Irene's fury. He figured you're only young once; might as well have fun. Hope tried to talk him into dying his hair the same color with the excuse that he wouldn't need to use bleach. Nate was torn between It being an insult or a compliment.

It was so easy to keep his personal life private because, generally speaking, he didn't have a personal life that was worth talking about outside of bragging about his daughter. He wasn't quite ready to start telling people about Wade, either. It wasn't because he was worried how his co-workers would react; he simply didn't want to jinx it.

So Nate smiled because it was an easy thing to do when talking about Hope and said, "She's going to have her license soon and wants to switch from judo to mixed martial arts."

"You've created a monster," Terri said with a laugh. "She's already my hero."

Nate nodded. "That's exactly how I like it. Won't have to worry as much when she goes to college."

"You'll still worry," she said.

"That's my job," he said. Then he left the terminal.

The rain was still pouring down, and Nate did his best to keep from getting too soaked, but failed miserably. He would have done better standing under a showerhead fully dressed. He wondered if Wade would mind if he used his shower, but he quickly put that thought aside. It took his mind too many places, and it was not the time. Even if the only other time in his life he'd been to someone's home at this time of night was for what the kids these days called a booty call.

This was not a booty call.

This was… yet another thing Nate wasn't sure how to describe with words. Then again, dating was different anymore. It wasn't like when he was young and all he wanted was something to stick his dick in. All he wanted now was compatibility, someone he could spend time with and just relax and be himself. He never had that, really. With Irene, he was too busy trying to be "normal," and all it accomplished was stress and resentment on both sides. Nate didn't want that with Wade.

Nate wasn't sure what he wanted with Wade, but he knew he wanted as much of it as he could get.

The porch light was on at Wade's house, and Nate could see that Wade was standing by the window. In fact, he rapidly closed the curtain and did what appeared to be a little dance. Nate shook his head, again smiling. Then he frowned feeling the squish of water that had absorbed into the padding of his prosthesis.

Suddenly, Nate had that anxious feeling inside. While he was certain that Wade would not care that he needed to remove it, Nate didn't like to show that side of himself. It never ended with anything other than disappointment. Conversely, Nate didn't like the idea of being wet and uncomfortable for however long he was going to be with Wade. He always had extra lining and padding with him, but those were in his dirty laundry bag for a reason. In hindsight, he wished he would have gone home first.

Resigned to being wet, Nate got out of the truck and rushed through the rain and was about to knock when the door opened and Wade pulled him inside and looped a towel around his neck. Nate struggled to keep up with things, and the towel was really soft. He said, "Thanks for the towel."

"I also have dry clothes if you'd like to not be drenched during _The Proposal_ ," Wade said with a grin.

Nate's brow furrowed. He was certain he'd missed something. "What proposal?"

" _The Proposal_ is a movie," Wade said with a grin.

"Oh," Nate said as he chuckled. "Wait, what?"

"There's also a pizza in the oven that should be ready about the same time you are dry," Wade said. He was smiling as if everything that he said should make perfect sense. "How about I give you the grand tour?"

Nate laughed and said, "That would be a good place to start."

"This will literally take two minutes," Wade said. Then he looped his arm with Nate's prosthetic arm and led him through the place. The house was only slightly bigger than Nate's apartment, mainly because there was a small utility room. Which is where Wade handed him a t-shirt and sweat pants and said, "You can use the dryer if you need to."

"You've planned," Nate said.

Wade shrugged. "I don't like being in wet clothes, so I figured if you're staying very long, you'd probably prefer to be comfortable. While 'moist' is an unpleasant word to some, it is an unpleasant feeling to all."

Nate couldn't argue with that.

Then Wade pointed out the bathroom and said, "Go. Change. I'm going to check on the pizza."

Nate did as instructed. He had to admit, it was a relief to get out of the wet clothes—especially the pants. He longed to remove his prosthesis, but all he could think about was the way Irene used to look at him. The pity that would appear in her eyes, especially towards the end of their relationship, like the only thing she could see was what was missing. He didn't remove the prosthesis.

Back in the living room, Wade had a pizza sitting on the small coffee table. He was already seated, and he looked up seeing Nate approach. Wade was giving him a strange look, and it almost made Nate nervous. Nate said, "What?"

"I think my Batman shirt looks better on you," Wade said with an eyebrow waggle.

"Jesus," Nate grumbled, though he was now smiling.

"Do you want a beer?" Wade asked.

Nate nodded. "Beer is good."

"Awesome," Wade said as he stood up. "I only have Miller. Is that okay?"

Nate said, "As long as its beer and cold."

"Americans and their cold beer is just ridiculous," Wade said as he grabbed two out of the fridge. "Absolutely ridiculous."

Nate sat on the couch and was soon joined by Wade who did not bother keeping space between them. Nate picked up a slice of pizza as Wade pushed play. He asked, "Why this movie?"

"Betty White," Wade said with a smirk. "The last Golden Girl, long may she live."

"I think I may have watched this once," Nate said. Truth be told, it was one of his favorite movies. It was something he did not tell people because they usually thought he was joking. "I like the scene with the grandma dancing in the woods."

Wade grinned. "Hell yes!" Then he slouched back, his thigh pressing against Nate's as he said, "Fair warning, I usually cry at the airport scene. It's so damned emotional."

"Me too," Nate said almost reluctantly.

They ate. They drank. They…cuddled.

It wasn't like something that was discussed beforehand, either. It started with a laugh that ended with the two of them nestled a little closer and their hands were touching. Then their hands were entwined together. And finally, Wade had his head resting against Nate's shoulder. It was strange. Not because of anything specific. Or maybe it was something very specific, because Nate was not a cuddler. Normally, he felt very uncomfortable with the activity, but it just kind of _worked_ with Wade.

If Wade cried during the airport scene, Nate had no idea because he fell asleep.

* * *

 _It was the dream again. Wade knew it was the dream again. He'd had it often enough to recognize it, but that didn't mean he could stop it. Vanessa was under his arm, giggling about baby names for the family they just decided to start. Yentl was playing. Wade was singing along with Barbara Streisand. Life. This was his life. It was so perfect, even then he knew it couldn't last._

 _Wade looked down at her. So beautiful. He could see every fleck of gold in her dark brown eyes, the way her nose crinkled when she smiled. He loved every line on her face, every strand of hair, every thought in her head._

 _She stood up._

 _"_ _Don't go," Wade said, reaching for her. There was blood covering his hand. "Let's just stay home tonight."_

 _She grabbed his coat, the red one with the wool lining. It was her favorite. "I'm craving ice cream. You're going to need some stamina. Want to get a protein shake?"_

 _He tried to grab her hand, but he couldn't reach her. He begged, "Just stay, Ness. Please!"_

 _There was blood splattered on her face. She smiled and whispered, "I love you, Wade Wilson."_

Wade sat up with a shout of, "Ness!"

His heart was pounding. Breath came in short bursts like he just ran ten miles in five minutes. The blanket was wedged around him, and it took some effort to wrestle out of it. Then he realized there was someone else beside him and he stumbled backwards knocking over a half-empty bottle of beer and tripping over his feet to fall against the wall.

Nate. Nate was with him. Nate was looking at him, reaching towards him. He was talking, but Wade couldn't hear the words over the thundering in his ears.

Panic seized him completely and he scrambled off the floor and rushed into the bathroom. Wade _hated_ his nightmares, but he hated it worse when someone else saw him. He _definitely_ didn't want Nate to see him in full-blown panic mode. He hated the pity, and even if Nate swore he wouldn't pity him, it would happen. It always happened.

In the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and looked at his reflection in the soap-splattered mirror. He looked just as haunted as he felt, with the dark circles under his eyes. He'd lost a lot of weight over the last couple years because he wasn't eating. Or he was only eating when someone reminded him. He was crying. He gritted his teeth and hissed, "Pull yourself together, you _weak_ mother _fucker._ "

He rubbed his eyes and focused on calming his breath, one hand pressed against his chest, the other against his neck, fingers pressed to his pulse point. He was shivering, but he wasn't cold. Or if he was cold, it wasn't physical. That dream… He hated _that_ dream. Always reaching, but never touching. And no matter what, it always ended the same. Blood on his hands. Blood on her shirt.

Nate said in his usual gruff voice, "Wade?"

Wade closed his eyes and could still see her. Eyes asking the same question: _Why?_ He said, his voice cracking a little, "You don't want to see me like this. I don't want you to see me like this. Just go. I'm sorry. I'll be better, I promise. Just… I can't."

He could hear Nate outside the door. It sounded like he was talking to himself. Then there was a thump and a sigh that sounded almost inappropriate. Then Nate said, his voice a little softer, "I can't leave you, so I'll at least make us even."

Wade gritted his teeth and ripped open the door, ready to tell Nate Summers exactly how he can fuck off, but froze at the sight of him.

Nate was shirtless and had removed his prosthesis. It lay on the floor, propped against the wall.

Wade didn't intend to stare, but he didn't know what else to do; he wasn't prepared. All he could see was the extensive scarring that went down to Nate's waistband and crept across his chest in dendritic tendrils that extended up to his neck. Wade noticed the scars on his neck before, but never imagined the same pattern practically covered his entire left side. Skin grafts. Suture marks. There was nothing left of his arm. No stump. Just a bit of skin-covered bone that was indented and covered by raw looking skin. Nate looked a little raw as Wade finally met his eyes.

Whatever rebuke Wade may have had died away.

"Wh—What… Why are you…" Wade tried.

"I wanted to make us even," Nate repeated, his voice level.

Wade wanted to tell him to fuck off. That's what he wanted to do. But what came out of his mouth was, "What?"

"I don't like to be seen like this," Nate said. He looked Wade directly in the eyes. "It reminds me of my ex-wife."

Wade's eyes went wide. He laughed at the absurdity. "Excuse me? Can we back up to the part where you didn't say that while making heavy eye contact without a shirt on. Because, yeah, that is definitely a dating no-no."

"I never wanted her to see me incomplete," Nate said. He rubbed at the reddened skin around the heaviest of the scarring, looking down and away a moment. Wade's anger subsided as understanding dawned. Nate continued, "I always wore the prosthesis around her. Always. Even when it hurt. I'd wear long sleeves all the time and put a glove on a piece of plastic because it means people don't stare." He huffed, eyes glancing down to where the prosthetic arm rested against the wall. "The truth is that I've actually been dying to take the damned thing off since I got here because the goddamn padding got wet in the rain, but I…" He sighed, eyes flicking up to Wade's and away again as he said, "I don't like people to see me like this."

Instantly, Wade said, "You don't need to do that with me."

"I know," Nate said, again looking him in the eye. "That is why I am standing half naked in your hallway telling you this. I don't… fuck." He cleared his throat of the emotion that was gathering there and said, "If you really don't want me to be here, I'll go, but I don't want us to start this thing by hiding the ugly parts."

One thing was certain: Wade did not see pity in Nate's eyes. He saw nerves—vulnerability—but nothing that resembled pity. Nate was standing there, his insecurities completely on display, his pain literally bared to Wade because he wanted Wade to know there was nothing to hide. No judgment. No demand.

Wade didn't bother fighting the tears. Then Wade found himself being pulled against Nate by that one very strong arm, and Wade let himself melt into the embrace. Nate anchored him with a hand balled up in his t-shirt, and Wade—no matter how much he wanted to fight it—couldn't stop crying. It was the kind of cry he'd wanted to have for two years. Not alone with the door locked or under the showerhead or quietly on the other side of the room where Al wouldn't hear.

Everyone expected him to be strong. Wade was the guy who fixed other people's problems. He was the guy that people ran to when the monsters were at their heels. But no one knew what to do when he was the one who was broken. When he showed his weakness, everyone was very uncomfortable and didn't know how to act. Everyone had their platitudes. _At least she didn't suffer. Better to have loved and lost. Everything happens for a reason. She would want you to move on._ Nate didn't offer anything but the right to feel without judgement and Wade didn't know what to do. Then he realized he didn't have to do anything but just exist.

Wade's voice cracked when he said, "I still can't talk about it."

"Then don't," Nate said.

"It's that simple," Wade said, looking down at him.

Nate confirmed, "That simple."

Wade looked away and said, "I'm pretty fucked up."

Nate gave that ghost of a smile. "The best people are."

Then Wade got an idea. It was probably a bad idea; he was almost certain because he was feeling everything all at once and it was kind of overwhelming. But he also figured there was no way that Nate could possibly think any less of him either way, so he leaned down and kissed the corner of Nate's mouth.

Nate froze, and Wade opened his eyes. He could see the surprise and the subtle twitch of Nate's lips and had that flicker of disappointment build in his chest that was quickly extinguished a moment later when Nate rose up to kiss him back. His lips were soft and had the subtle taste of peppermint. It was a soft kiss, a return of the sentiment with a boldness underlying the almost innocent gesture. Wade wasn't sure he'd ever been kissed like that. It felt good. And god, it had been so long. Two years might as well have been a lifetime. Just that simple press of lips had Wade's heart pounding.

"I did not expect that," Nate confessed, a tug of a smile on his lips. Lips that Wade just kissed. And Nate's voice! He sounded rough and a little dazed, kind of how Wade felt.

Wade's mouth was suddenly dry when he said, "I know I'm kind of a basket-case, but is there any chance we can do that again?"

Nate's fingers grazed across his pulse point, up to his jaw and cupped Wade's face. He said, "The probability is very high."

Wade laughed softly, nuzzling his warm palm as he asked, "Is that a euphemism for your—"

"Excuse me, boys."

Wade jumped at the sound of Al's get-off-my-lawn voice. Nate just looked her way with that mildly annoyed expression he always had on his face; Wade was finally willing to admit that he found it adorable. Fuck, everything about Nate was perfect from his mismatched eyes to his scars to his silver hair.

But Wade's favorite thing was Nate's voice as he said, "You must be Althea."

"And you must be Nate," Al said with the sweet tone she sometimes used with Neena. The tone remained when she asked, "Any chance you two idiots are finished with whatever you're doing? I need to take a shit."

"Yes, ma'am," Nate said with a smile in his voice. He reached down to pick up his prosthesis and the smile reached his face when Wade put his arm around his shoulders and the two walked back to the couch and settled in together. Be it the roller coaster of emotions or the fact that neither got much sleep, a few lazy kisses transformed into another nap by the time Al again emerged from the bathroom.


	6. Chapter 6

_Nate lay face down in the sand, listening to the sound of waves wafting against beach. The air smelled of coconuts and shea butter and… WD-40?_

 _He didn't focus on that. He focused on the hands that were massaging his shoulders. Hands that belonged to Wade Wilson. Strong. Sure. Sensual. Wade was carefully kneading every bit of his skin, and Nate moaned into the pillow made by his arms. Both arms._

 _"_ _That feels good, Wade," he said in a voice that was far rougher than he intended. He had no memory of ever having a massage this good. He looked over his shoulder, smiling at the look on Wade's face, like he was really enjoying this too._

 _"_ _I usually have this dream about Frankie Avalon," Wade said. He pressed his palm into Nate's right oblique._

 _Nate hissed, "Fuck, that feels good."_

 _Then Wade started massaging Nate's left arm. It was…made of metal? But he could still…feel it… Nate didn't question it. He could still smell the oil, coconuts and motor grease._

 _Wade knocked on his shoulder. It was an echoing sound, like knocking on a hollow-core door. "You in there, Daddy?"_

 _Nate raised an eyebrow at being called "daddy."_

 _Wade knocked again. Harder this time. His voice sounded very wrong. "Dad!"_

 _No, definitely not one of his kinks; that sounded way too much like his daughter. Nate looked over his shoulder and Wade was dressed in a red and black cheerleader outfit with blond pig tails. He felt like he missed something important._

"Nathan Summers!"

Nate startled awake at the sound of his name. In Hope's voice. Hope was in his apartment. She was on the other side of the door. He glanced at the clock. It was 4:37 pm. Friday. Hope wasn't supposed to be there until 6. She was early.

"I'm awake!" he slurred as he sat up. His dick was half hard, and he took a couple deep breaths to try to will it away. The sound of his ex-wife's voice in the living room was helpful. Nate got up and pulled on a pair of dirty jeans and grabbed a t-shirt. He left his prosthesis laying in the corner chair and walked out into the living room.

Hope's face lit up seeing him, and she rushed to throw her arms around his neck. He hugged her tight as she said, "Sorry to wake you up, dad."

"You don't need to apologize for that," Nate said as he ruffled her green hair. "Where's the spikes?"

"I ran out of the spiking cement," Hope said sadly.

Irene said, "Maybe if you didn't go through it by the gallon."

Nate gave a tight smile and said, "I'll add it to my Amazon list."

"Hammer and I have a meeting at 5:30, and figured you wouldn't mind the early visit," Irene said tightly. "I hope it isn't a problem."

Nate knew it wouldn't matter if it was or not. He said, "It's never a problem, but you might want to call next time."

Hope gave him a raised eyebrow and Nate gave her a look. The silent communication was clear: _You have some explaining to do, dad._ And _I will explain, just not in front of your mother, Hope._

"I'll keep that in mind," Irene said. She gave Hope a quick hug and said, "If you need anything, call. See you Sunday."

Once she was gone, Hope bounced on the toes of her vintage converse sneakers and said, "You have to tell me all about your dude!"

Nate tried his best to give her the stink-eye, but it never worked as well with her. He asked, "Why do you think I'm seeing a 'dude'?"

"Oh, shut up," Hope said as she shoved his chest, making him shake his head. "Tell me about him."

His face was heating up, but Nate knew that if there was supposed to be open communication between them, that means now and then he had to communicate, too. He rubbed the back of his neck and said, "How about I get some coffee first?"

"Please tell me you bought the good creamer," she said with a grin.

Nate nodded.

She put on her most pleading of faces. Nate knew what was coming. "And can we spike my hair before we do the movie in the park thing?"

In the kitchen, Hope sat at the small two-person table with a coffee pot to the side. Nate had a large black mug of coffee with a shot of the caramel macchiato creamer and a dollop of whipped cream that Hope added with that challenging look that almost dared him to complain—he didn't. Hope's coffee was only coffee on the basis that a fourth of it came from the pot. Additionally, all the tools for spiking were laid out for ease of access: a bowl with whisk, spiking compound, hair ties, combs, and a blow dryer.

Hope's obsession with spiking her hair started almost a year ago when they spent a week at Grandma and Grandpa Summers' farm. Nate was out in the barn helping his father fix the tractor, and Hope ended up exploring a cabinet in Nate's old bedroom and found a picture album. Most of the pictures protected behind cellophane were of him and Chris when they were younger, but towards the back were pictures from when they were high school age. The early pictures, Hope couldn't really tell them apart at all. Then she got to the high school section.

Uncle Chris was a jock, through and through. Every time they were at Thanksgiving or Christmas, he told the same story about pitching his first no-hitter in 8th Grade, and how he turned down a bunch of full-ride scholarship to every state university. And as it turned out, there seemed to be a _lot_ more pictures of Chris than Nate in that section, mostly of him wearing various uniforms. It wasn't until she shifted the album a little and a bunch of pictures fell to the floor that she discovered a treasure trove of Nate as a punk rock high schooler.

The top picture was Nate with his bleached hair styled in a mohawk while sitting on an old rusty Harley Davidson, smoking a cigarette, wearing a black leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders and a Mötley Crüe t-shirt. Hope could not believe her eyes. Then she continued flipping through the pictures and found one from when Nate had bright pink hair in liberty spikes. She tucked the photo in her shirt pocket and ran down to the barn.

When she got there, Nate was patiently explaining to his father that, yes, the wiring system was what was causing the issues, and no, he doesn't need to call Chris for a second opinion. He was far more patient than Hope. Hope, more than once, wanted to tell Grandpa Scott to quit being an asshole, but she knew she would just get in trouble. Still, she came through the door and said, "Dad, can I talk to you a minute?"

He was relieved; Hope could tell. Nate walked to where she was waiting and she showed him the picture. He groaned and said, "Oh, shit. I forgot about this."

"Language," Grandpa Scott said from beside the tractor. Hope and Nate both rolled their eyes.

She also told Nate that he needed to do his hair that way again. When he said, "Not a chance," she asked him to do her hair that way with her best _pretty please because you're my favorite person and I love you_ look.

The first time was a little rough. It had been over 30 years since Nate made an attempt at spikes, and he couldn't remember all the steps. In the end, Hope's spikes looked more Dr. Seuss-like instead of Punk Rock, but she didn't complain. The next time, Nate spent an hour watching YouTube videos and reading wikis. It took a little longer, but her spikes came out perfect for homecoming.

Hope could do it by herself now, if she had the stuff to make it happen. But Nate did it the best, always getting the points sharp enough to kill a man, and she liked that he didn't mind doing it. Or if he did mind, he didn't complain. It was a team effort, too.

Once Nate had her hair sectioned off, he told her to brush out the front section and hold the ends so he could tease the base. As he did this, Hope asked, "What's his name?"

"Wade," Nate said, and his goddamn face betrayed any annoyance he may have felt. He had a smile any time he thought about the man.

Hope didn't miss it. She wanted to squeal. Instead, she squeaked when he tugged a little too hard with the comb and Nate apologized. She laughed and looked up at him with a dopey grin that was a perfect match for her father's. She asked, "And are we in love with Wade?"

"Love isn't something that happens overnight," Nate said flatly. "Love is something that has to be cultivated over time with trust and commitment that goes beyond the stage of infatuation."

"But doesn't the infatuation kind of ignite the fire?" Hope said dreamily.

"Hold this," Nate ordered, and Hope held up the now thoroughly teased strand of hair while Nate dipped his fingers in the hair cement he just mixed. Nate said, "Perhaps, but you can't base the future off the initial burst of hormones. Fire can light the fuse for a bomb or a hearth fire. There's a big difference between the two."

Hope nodded. "Which one do you think you're lighting?"

"I would prefer the latter," Nate said as he took up the hair dryer. "Only time will tell, I guess."

Hope stopped fighting it and squealed. "So this means I get to meet him, right? I mean, come on. I have to make sure this guy is going to treat you right and isn't just some—is there a male equivalent to 'floozy'?"

"I don't like that word," Nate said. "Try again."

"Jerk who is out to use and abandon you all broken hearted?" Hope tried.

"Better." Nate switched on the blow dryer. It only took about a minute to get this solution to a nice tacky state, much faster than the egg whites he used back in the 80s. He switched off the dryer and picked up is coffee. The spike was taking form nicely. He continued, "I don't think he is the type to use people, but I've been wrong before. It's only been a couple weeks, so I am trying to not get attached to anything."

"But you are," Hope said.

"What about this Emil kid?" Nate said.

"Not the best segue, dad," Hope said, though she blushed. "Emil and I are kind of a thing? I guess? But mom says I'm not allowed to date until I turn 16 or she and Hammer have to be with us if we go anywhere, which seems so dumb. Everyone else in my class can date and it is no big deal."

They started work on the second spike as Nate said, "I know that these rules seem arbitrary and old fashioned, but if he really likes you and wants to spend time with you and vice versa, then it should not be a problem to go with supervision a few times."

"I wouldn't mind if it was you, but mom and Hammer are always bickering and it is embarrassing," Hope said. Then she asked, "Would you be willing to maybe supervise a date for me?" Then her eyes brightened. "We could make it a double date so I can meet Wade!"

Nate shook his head. "I am not sure if it's the right ti—"

"You do know that as a single parent, the kids are a big part of dating," Hope said sagely. She was laying it on pretty thick. "I mean, what if he's a terrible human around children? You don't want to wait until you're married and thoroughly in love to figure out that he hates kids."

"No one is talking about marriage, but otherwise your logic is sound," Nate said. Then he sighed. "I am not sure if I am ready to introduce him to you, though. I'm not sure if this is going to last. I want it to, but that doesn't mean it will."

"I don't know if Emil and I will last, but you still want to meet him to see if he's a decent guy," Hope said. "Or is that one of those things where you are exercising your parental authority?"

"You are painting me into a corner," Nate said with a huff.

Hope knew she'd won. "So call him and see if he'd like to join us for the movie tonight."

"I think he's working tonight," Nate said.

"Sounds like there's a chance he isn't," Hope almost sing-songed.

Nate sighed. He knew when he was defeated. "I'll text him and see if he's busy."

* * *

Wade woke up to the chime of his text alert. He rolled over and fumbled around for the phone. It was a little after 5 o'clock and he smiled seeing Nate's name (he'd finally changed it from Cable after all that snuggling and smooching). Then he raised an eyebrow seeing that it was a photo message.

The picture was of Nate with his silver hair smoothed up into a pseudo-mohawk with a young person peeking over his shoulder with a mohawk of green liberty spikes. Nate looked annoyed. The person Wade could only assume was Hope looked highly amused.

 ** _Nate:_** _Are you busy tonight?_ **_Me:_** _No. It looks like you've been busy. #SilverFox_ **_Nate:_** _Would you like to watch a movie in the park and meet my child?_ **_Me:_** _I'm open to the experience. I haven't met the fam for a very long time, so I'll clean up my dress shoes._ _Did I mention I like that look on you?_ **_Nate:_** _I assume that is what the Silver Fox comment was for._ _Movie starts at sunset. Pick you up at 8?_ **_Me:_** _Sounds perfect._ _Also, Should I be scared? Is she going to break my arm or something?_ **_Nate:_** _I promise I will protect you from my teenage daughter._ _You're okay with this?_

Wade thought about it for a minute. The truth is, he knew this was kind of a big step. Meeting the actual family was a big deal in the dating world, or so he has heard. He's never had to meet someone's kids. Or rather, he's met plenty of people's kids, but not because he was dating someone with children. This was significant. Or it was insignificant because Nate may introduce Hope to everyone. This may be one of those threshold things, a test to pass. _Does the kid with the green mohawk approve?_

 ** _Me:_** _Yes. And I'll try to be on my best behavior. I make no promises as to what that means._

Wade couldn't help smiling. It was strange, but he really was excited that Nate wanted him to meet his child. Meeting friends was different, even if Wade considered Neena and Al his family these days. Kids are just different, and Nate obviously loved his daughter very much. She wasn't an accessory to his life; she was his world. And Nate wanted Wade to be part of that world.

When Wade got out of bed, he stepped out in the hall to see Neena sitting on his couch. She waved and he hopped over the back of the couch to sit beside her. He said, "I would say I'm surprised to see you, but that is basically a lie."

"I need to borrow Dragon Age again," Neena said. She already had the game in her bag. It was clear that the asking was only a courtesy at this point.

Wade said, "I was so disappointed with Inquisition."

"You are literally the only person who would say that," Neena said with an eyeroll. "Then again, I'm not shocked that you would be annoyed about the lack of white-haired, gruff-spoken characters like the Arishok."

"The Arishok was an amazing character, and I'm still convinced that he should have been a romance option. Sten, too," Wade said almost petulantly. "Although, Zevran is still my little elf baby. I have a soft spot in my heart for mercenaries. Haven't you played through the series like ten times?"

"Says the person who has maxed out the number of characters possible," Neena pointed out. Then she turned towards him with her head propped up by one arm. "Tell me about how awesome Nate is, I know you're dying to anyway."

Wade grinned. It was an involuntary response.

"He is pretty awesome," Wade said. All evening between taking shifts at the door and patrolling the crowd, Wade and Nate texted. It was short bursts of conversation that culminated in a goodnight that for some reason left Wade feeling light as a feather. Goodnight texts are the best. "I'm meeting his daughter. Tonight."

Neena's eyebrows raised. "Oh my. You're getting serious."

"Not _that_ serious," Wade said.

"Meeting the kid is kind of serious," Neena argued.

Wade shook his head. "It's not serious."

Neena retorted, "It's very serious. He has feelings. Do you have feelings?"

"Everyone has feelings," Wade said.

"Not the dreamy feelings you are feeling."

Wade secretly loved their childish arguments. It had been a while since they had a good, pointless bicker session. He smiled and said, "Everyone should have dreamy feelings."

"I need some dreamy feelings," Neena said. "What do you think of the new girl, Inez?"

Wade's brow furrowed. "Who's that?"

"Outlaw," Neena clarified. She made pistols with her hands and mimed shooting. "Does the cowgirl thing."

"She seems kind of intimidating," Wade said, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. "Do we have a crush on the new girl?"

"We might," Neena said. "Heard it through the grapevine that she swings my way, and I'd kind of like to swing her way."

"Do I need to manufacture a Tinder account? Set you up on a not so blind date at a questionable location under false pretenses?" Wade asked.

Neena laughed. "I think I can do that on my own, thanks."

"I've heard it is an effective way of finding a dreamboat," Wade said.

Neena grinned. "What's the plan for tonight?"

"He's picking me up at 8," Wade said. He bit his lip. "I'm kind of nervous, though. This feels like a make-or-break moment in our budding relationship."

"So you admit it is kind of a big deal," Neena said.

Wade both loved and hated her. "Yes. Fine. It's a big deal."

* * *

Hope Summers was certain that her dad was in love, even if he would never admit it. Nate was not the type to admit anything unless someone presented him with peer-reviewed evidence that disproved all other options. Judging by the fact that he changed shirts twice, cleaned out the truck, used the good cologne, and actually looked in a mirror and huffed a laugh at his hair, Nate was smitten enough to care about his appearance and nervous enough to question it.

When Nate noticed her watching him, the stern look that he often wore made an appearance. They both knew it was a façade. He said, "What are you smirking about?"

"If you keep messing with your hair, we're going to be late getting to the park, and both of our boyfriends are going to be very sad," she said with a grin. A grin that widened when he shook his head at the term "boyfriend" to describe their significant others. The idea of his daughter having a boyfriend was a new thing that Nate had to get used to; the idea of her dad having a boyfriend was a thing Hope had been waiting for a long time.

Out in the truck, Hope put on her seatbelt and as Nate started the truck, she asked, "Do you want me to sit in the middle or should Wade?"

She practically lived for the surly look on Nate's face.

Nate said, "You can sit in the middle. I doubt Wade would fit in the center belt."

"Cop out," Hope said. She laughed at Nate's frown. As they pulled away from the apartment complex, she asked, "Is he like you? All stern and serious?"

"No," Nate said with a chuckle. "Wade has a very unique sense of humor."

When they pulled into Wade's drive, Wade was sitting on the front porch. He immediately stood and fidgeted a moment before taking a deep breath and walking to the truck as Nate walked around the front of the vehicle to meet him. Nate took Wade's hand, and Wade visibly relaxed as he took the last few steps to the passenger door where Hope was waiting with a huge grin.

"Oh my god," Wade said with a laugh. "Dude, you two have the exact same smile."

The grin on Hope's face widened and she stuck her hand out the window and said, "I'm Hope."

"Wade Wilson," Wade said, giving her a polite bow and handshake.

"I hope you're treating my dad like a gentleman," she said with a look that was a close mimic of Nate's more surly expressions. Nate gave her the long-suffering dad look, and she said, "It's nice to meet you, Wade."

"Likewise," Wade said with a grin.

It was a tight fit with the three of them, and Hope kept grinning at both Nate and Wade in that way that clearly implies the wheels in her young mind were turning. Nate was almost worried because Hope was brilliant and kind of devious.

"So, Wade…" Hope said, dragging out his name a second longer than necessary.

Wade looked at her and said, "Yes, Miss Hope?"

"Are you originally from around here?" she asked.

"I was born in Quebec, Canada," he answered. "Moved to Toronto when I was 6 or 7, and moved here about ten years ago."

Hope nodded. "Why did you move to the U.S.?"

"It wasn't for the healthcare system," Wade answered. He shrugged. "I made some friends when I was in the military, and when I got out, I decided that I had more reasons to be here than be in Toronto, so I moved."

"So you're a citizen?" Hope asked.

"No," Wade answered. "I have a EB-2 Green Card, because I did a lot of work with the US military and got a job here working for a security contractor. My application was rushed through, and up until a couple years ago, I worked for a company called Landau, Luckman, Lake, and LeQuare."

Nate never heard this story. He never really thought to ask about Wade's citizenship situation. Then again, he wasn't sure if he ever told Wade the name of the company he worked for, though it was emblazoned on the side of the truck when they met. There was a lot to learn, and Nate realized he looked forward to the learning.

"What do you do now?" Hope asked.

"I still do security," Wade answered somewhat hesitantly. He fish-mouthed a little before adding, "I just do it for a different company now."

When they arrived at the park, there was already a decent crowd. A large screen was set up near the small bandstand, and groups of people were clustered around the small concession stand and spread out on blankets and beach towels across the grass. Nate was prepared with a couple of blankets and a small cooler, and Wade felt kind of ill prepared. That feeling vanished the moment Nate took his hand.

The three of them walked together with Hope leading the pack, searching for the best spot. There was a sculpture that looked like a giant corkscrew that didn't have anyone nearby. It was farther back, but it still had a good view. Wade and Nate worked together to spread out one of the blankets while Hope wandered off to talk to a couple of her friends from school who all looked really excited about her spiked hair.

Wade and Nate sat down on the blanket. Wade was being kind of quiet and he had a sort of pensive look on his face. Nate wanted to ask about it, but he didn't get the chance before Hope came back with a young man in tow.

She dragged him down to the blanket and said, "Dad, this is Emil. Emil, this is my dad."

"H-hi," Emil stammered. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise, Emil," Nate said, and Wade was kind of amazed at how relaxed and not murderous Nate looked. Wade had memories of meeting girls' dads back when he was young, and there was always a lot of intimidation involved. Then again, Nate wasn't the kind of man who felt the need to intimidate anyone. "My daughter has told me a lot about you."

Emil gave a hesitant, feeble smile. "You too. I mean, she's told me a lot about you, too, sir."

"You can call me Nate, if you want," Nate said. He put a hand on Wade's knee and said, "This is Wade."

Wade gave a quick smile, and said, "Hi, Emil."

"We're going to go to the concession stand," Hope said with a big smile. "Do you guys want anything?"

"I think the cooler will have me covered," Nate said. His hand was still resting on Wade's knee, and he gave It a soft squeeze before asking, "You want anything?"

"I think I'm good for the moment," Wade said with a tight smile. Yeah, there was something bothering Wade.

The young ones departed, and Nate and Wade sat in silence for a couple minutes. Nate's eyes followed his daughter and Emil. They were holding hands and it was clear that she was in the early stages of something that resembled love. He remembered those days and those feelings, even if they seemed far away. Wade seemed strangely far away.

When the movie started, Hope and Emil returned and sat in front of Wade and Nate on the second blanket, sharing popcorn and candy. On the screen, Lon Chaney was flirting 40's style with Evelyn Ankers, and Wade was watching in that way that someone who's mind is elsewhere watches things.

Nate gave his hand a squeeze and asked in a soft voice, "What's on your mind?"

"A lot of things," Wade answered, barely audible. He looked at Nate, hesitating a moment before asking, "Does it bother you that I work at a strip club?"

That question surprised him. Really, Nate hadn't thought much about it other than to find it kind of funny in the beginning. To him, a job is a job. Nate answered, "No, it doesn't."

Wade was incredulous. "Seriously? You don't, I don't know—"

"Want to hide it?" Nate said with a huff.

With the look Wade gave him, Nate knew he'd hit the nail on the head. Wade said, "You seem to be a good dad. You have an awesome daughter. You're this good, upstanding guy. And there's a lot of good, upstanding people think that strip clubs are sin dens for degenerates and hookers."

"I really don't like the word 'hooker,'" Nate said, and he kind of hated how much his voice sounded like the dad voice. He continued, "But more to the point, the value of a person—to me—doesn't lie in how they make a living."

"That's all very pragmatic, but what about your daughter?" Wade asked. "What would she think? I mean, I'm not exactly a role model."

"My daughter is going to be sixteen in two months and five days," Nate said. "By this point, her mother and I have given her all the guidance we can give her without repeating ourselves. She is a smart young woman who is starting to stretch her wings and doesn't need me as much anymore—except when she needs someone to spike her hair."

Wade chuckled softly at that.

Nate continued, "At this point, I am not looking for someone to be a role model for my daughter. I am looking for someone who is compatible with me."

"You think I meet that qualification?" Wade said.

"Yes," Nate said. "Have I allayed your fears?"

Wade smiled and said, "Yes."

"Good, because I have something I want to address with you, too," Nate said. He was smiling in that way that always made Wade feel funny inside. Good funny. Like everything was daffodil daydreams. Nate said, "Before we picked you up, Hope referred to you as my boyfriend. I am curious if you would be comfortable with that title."

"Seriously?" Wade's smile bloomed into a grin. "You want to be official? Going steady and such?"

"Yes," Nate said.

Wade wanted to kiss Nate. _Really_ kiss Nate. Not just a little peck on the lips. But they were in public and he didn't think Nate would appreciate it. Instead, he hugged him tight and whispered in his ear, "I am so in the mood to make a Broadway musical with you right now."

"What's stopping you?" Nate asked, fighting a laugh and failing.

"There's a lot of people around," Wade said.

Nate huffed. "I don't care."

Without further prompting, Wade kissed him. He was a little over excited, and so was Wade, and they almost missed each other's mouths in their haste. They laughed and tried again, and second time was close to perfect. Wade was wrapped up in how soft Nate's lips were. Nate wanted to taste more of Wade, and he tilted his head just so and Wade's lips parted enough for him to gain entry.

Nate punctuated the kiss with another and when he pulled back he said, "I am glad we had this conversation."


	7. Chapter 7

Life settled into a new routine, and Wade loved it. Sunday nights, Wade and Nate got together for a late supper before Nate headed out on the road. Despite the fact that Nate was leaving, Wade really enjoyed telling him goodbye, mainly because Nate always kissed him like he was leaving for a year instead of only a few days. Usually on Wednesday night or Thursday morning, Wade would go to Nate's apartment or Nate would come to his, and the two would watch a movie and eat and often fall asleep together—always on the couch—before Nate went out on the second half of his run. Then Friday or sometimes Saturday morning, Nate would be back for a couple days, and they would find some way to spend the time together.

One such Saturday, the morning was dedicated to grocery shopping. Nate called to ask if Wade wanted to get lunch first, then head to the store. Wade agreed, despite never being a fan of the activity of shopping. Al gave him her list of items and Wade added a few things of his own, and Nate picked him up just after 11 o'clock.

They ate lunch at a small barbecue place that promised KC style, and the two spent most of the meal talking about the many different types of barbecue and why they each had their merits. Nate was a big fan of Memphis style because of the dry rubs, but still liked the KC style sauces. Wade liked the Carolina Gold sauces of the Carolina style, and was partial to pulled pork. Then he launched into a story about going to a party in the Caribbean with his friend Bob and a bunch of pirates from Venezuela where he ate some amazing authentic barbacoa style barbecue and it basically ruined his life.

Nate held up a hand to make Wade pause, and after washing down the food in his mouth, he said, "You went to a party with literal pirates on the Caribbean, and the only thing you're going to tell me is that you ate barbecue? This sounds like a story that needs some more context."

Wade laughed and said in a much softer voice, "To be honest, the rest of it is classified. That was during my days in special forces."

"You are a very fascinating man, Wade," Nate said with a shake of his head.

Wade grinned. "I'm sure you have a few of those I-could-tell-you-but-then-I'd-have-to-kill-you stories."

"One or two," Nate said.

They let the subject drop, and Wade was happy. He didn't really like talking about the things he did while in the service, and he figured that Nate was similarly inclined to avoid the subject. Wade never met a combat veteran who liked to talk about the things they did. They tell the funny stories about good friends that made it back and the capers that would make their superiors pissed or maybe the boot camp shenanigans. But the death and killing—the only people who wanted to talk about that were the ones who didn't do it.

At the grocery store, they each grabbed a cart and started to check off items on their respective lists. Wade noted that Nate spent a lot of time in the fresh produce department. He bought bags of apples and oranges, sweet potatoes, asparagus, vine-ripened tomatoes, and a bunch of other garden-grown things that made Wade wonder how he could possibly be the carnivore who devoured a burnt end sandwich like beef was a holy sacrament.

The extent of Wade's purchases in the produce department was a 10-pound bag of russet potatoes, a couple red onions, and a bag of salad mix for Al.

"You make me feel like I should be eating more leafy greens," Wade said as they entered the meat department.

Nate laughed. "It's my way of making up for all the truck stop food I eat during the week."

Wade rubbed his rock-hard belly. "You mean you're not naturally this gorgeous specimen and actually have to eat healthy?"

"Yes, Wade," Nate said, his cheeks shaded pink. Wade wanted to kiss him for being so goddamn adorable. He had a brief thought of pressing him against the nearby cooler and messing up his perfectly styled hair. After seeing him with a sort of mohawk, a nice braid, and a Pebbles-style pony tail—all courtesy of Hope—Wade wanted to see Nate with his hair in a mess and hanging in his face. He wanted to run his fingers through it and rub the soft stubble of the area he all but shaved.

But they were in the middle of a supermarket, and Wade decided it would be best to continue the task at hand. Over the last few weeks, Wade found himself having these small but intense fantasies about Nate. It was unusual. Or rather, at one point, Wade would have considered it very usual for him to fantasize about sex with another human at random times, especially one he had been dating for several weeks.

In the cereal aisle, Nate picked up a canister of oatmeal. Not the flavored kind, either. Just bland old Quaker oats. Wade tried to remember any point in his life where he ate plain oatmeal as his eyes scanned the bagged cereal. Then he spotted the store brand version of Honey Nut Cheerios and snorted a laugh as he held up the bag to show Nate the name.

"My daughter loves that stuff," Nate said. "She swears it's better than the name brand, and I tend to agree."

"But the name!" Wade said.

Nate's expression went from confused to slightly amused. "Yes, Wade, the name is unfortunate."

"Honey Nut Scooters is not unfortunate, it is hilarious," Wade said. He tossed the bag in his cart and said, "If they left out the honey, I wonder if they would have called it Nut Scooters."

"Jesus," Nate said. He sounded annoyed. His eyes and face showed he was trying his best to not laugh.

Wade grinned. "I know you're thinking about it."

"I'm thinking about the fact that my daughter said the same thing," Nate said.

Wade couldn't stop the bark of laughter at that. "Hope is frigging _awesome_."

Nate smiled at that.

They made it through the rest of the store and checkout with all of the bickering that made it worthwhile. Wade couldn't remember a time when he _enjoyed_ grocery shopping. For Ness, grocery shopping fell into the same category of brushing teeth or cleaning the bathroom; it was a task to be done but not necessarily enjoyed. Wade was generally of the same mindset, but Nate made this mundane activity that everyone in this city participated in to some extent feel like a good time. Maybe it was just the infatuation talking.

Wade was _definitely_ infatuated.

They stopped off at Wade's place to leave his purchases. Al was sitting in the living room listening to reruns of a legal procedural drama when they came through the door. She said, "Did you get the right kind of coffee this time?"

"Breakfast blend half-caf, as ordered," Nate answered.

Her tone changed to that almost sweet sound as she said, "Why thank you, Nate."

"I also picked up French Vanilla dark roast, and I'm setting them side-by-side," Wade added.

Nate gave him that half-scowl, half-smile as Al said, "Asshole."

Wade didn't put them side-by-side, but he still giggled like a naughty toddler.

"That was a much faster trip than I thought," Al said. "Any chance you two have other plans today? I was enjoying the silence."

"That's code for 'I want to diddle myself to Andy Griffith in peace,'" Wade said with a visible shudder.

Nate laughed and shook his head. Then he said to Wade, "I figured I would lure you to my place with Mexican food and a marathon of _Lucifer_."

"I am always down for big slabs of beef and sinning," Wade said without thinking too much about what just came out of his mouth.

Nate raised an eyebrow. "That's good to know."

"Don't you have ice cream or something that is going to melt?" Al said.

Nate laughed and said, "Yes, Miss Althea, I will get out of your hair soon."

"You're not the one I'm worried about," Al said in her usual grumble.

"She loves me, she just won't admit it," Wade said as he closed the refrigerator door. He put everything precisely where it was supposed to be with everything rotated so that the old was in the front and new in the back exactly how Al preferred. Yeah, he liked to sneak around and mess with her, but when he wasn't sure when he was going to be back, he didn't want her to needlessly fumble around for anything.

At Nate's place, they repeated the process of putting away groceries. Wade was always astounded at how clean the apartment was, but even the refrigerator was spotless. He wondered if it was because the apartment was almost another hotel room for Nate. He wondered if there was a place that Nate treated like home.

They settled onto the couch together, not a breath of space between them. Wade found it difficult to actually focus on the show, despite the dulcet tones of Tom Ellis. The only thing he could think about was the way Nate's hand idly stroked up and down his arm, how firm his body felt, and how much Wade wanted to climb on top of him or coax him back to the bedroom.

But there was a small problem: Wade didn't know how to go about the entire seduction process. It had been years since Wade made any kind of attempt at seduction, and even then, it was mostly Ness who led the way. He was always kind of nervous about making the first move because even when he was Mr. Sexy (as Ness put it), he still thought of himself as the string bean in high school that everyone made fun of for being a shrimp with shitty clothes and a bad bowl cut who couldn't get a date if his life depended on it. Wade wanted Nate to lead the way now, but he wasn't sure how to even hint at what he wanted.

"What time do you have to work tonight?" Nate asked softly.

Oh yeah, Wade thought. That was a thing he had to do. He answered, "8 o'clock."

Nate shifted to check his phone. "It's 3:40. If you want to get some sleep, my bed is pretty comfortable."

Wade could feel his heart starting to pound. Opening. This is an opening. But what came out of his mouth was, "You're pretty comfortable." _Goddammit._

"I figured I would join you," Nate said, and Wade looked at him with what he knew was a dumb expression somewhere between surprise and joy and anxiety, because he was feeling all of those things. Nate added, "At least for an hour or so."

"What happens after an hour?" Wade said, and immediately wanted to punch himself in the head for being the exact opposite of seductive or even reasonably intelligent.

Nate said, "I'm making dinner."

Domestic. Yes. Wade said, "I will totally help you with that, by the way."

"You'll be sleeping," Nate said.

God _dammit_ , that sounded somewhere between good and naughty. Maybe it was the way Nate looked him in the eyes when he said it. Maybe it was the almost whisper-growl of his voice. Wade wished that at least one of them was a fucking mind reader. Wade wanted to know what Nate was thinking. Fuck, Wade would settle for knowing what he himself was thinking. It was also that moment that Wade realized that other than a quick peck on the cheek, he hadn't kissed Nate yet that day. He wanted to do that now, but they were talking about going to the bedroom.

 _Do I want to do the kissing that leads to the bedroom?_ Wade may have an active fantasy life, he wasn't sure if he was ready to put his ass where his mind was. Yeah, Nate was sexy and an amazing kisser, and Wade really liked the way it felt when they were pressed up close together. He liked the idea of sleeping beside Nate. But the idea and the action were quite different. He liked the idea of fat-free cream cheese, but the actual item was always disappointing.

But Nate… Wade was certain that nothing about Nate would be disappointing. But Wade… Wade worried that _he_ would be disappointing.

Nate's hand came up to cup Wade's face. He had that look on his face, the one that always set Wade at ease. He said, "Rest is all I want for both of us right now."

"That sounds good," Wade finally managed to say.

While napping together had become a pastime, especially when Nate was home for his 8 to 12 hours in the middle of the week, napping together in a bed seemed different. It was different, because there were pillows and sheets and blankets, and people tended to do other things in a bed together. Wade was absolutely over thinking everything, especially since Nate laid down on top of the blankets and only removed his shoes. He didn't even remove his prosthesis.

Wade lay beside him, facing him. Nate's bed was comfortable, like sink into it and become One with the mattress comfortable. So were his pillows. Soft but not too soft. Firm but not too firm. Plus, Nate was there. It had been a long time since Wade was in bed with another person. He forgot about the gravitational pull that happened in these situations where the only thing that made sense was moving a little closer. It was like his body had a mind of its own. Or maybe his body had too many memories of doing the same thing, and it was just instinct.

Either way, Wade found himself nestled against Nate with his hand resting on Nate's side and head a scant inch from his on the same pillow. Kissing him came naturally at that point, just a simple tilt and forward lean to press their lips together. It was easily reciprocated, a low hum in Nate's throat that spurred Wade on.

The lazy kisses were Wade's favorite, really. The way that Nate kissed him all slow and sleepy was heavenly. Heaven with a side of heat, because Wade was nipping at Nate's lips now and then, and licking into his mouth. Nate reciprocated, and soon Wade was raised up on his elbow with an arm behind Nate's neck and a knee between Nate's legs.

Wade's heart was thundering in his ears at that point, and his higher functioning mind decided that was a great time to remind him it had been two years since he'd had sex, and a further 10 or so years since he'd had sex with another man. He was 100% writing checks that his body couldn't cash, and yet he kept writing because Nate had his hand under Wade's shirt and he shivered as his fingers trailed across his side. He arched his back and let out an involuntary laugh that was half tickle-induced and half panic.

"Wait," Wade finally said when he caught his breath. His hands were shaking. "I… I'm…"

Nate caught one shaking hand in his own and pulled it to his mouth, placing a soft kiss to Wade's knuckles. He gave him a gentle tug, and Wade followed the motion down to lay against Nate's side. He kissed Wade's forehead and gently stroked his side in a soothing way that did not tickle. It was comfortable. Grounding.

"I'm sorry," Wade said.

Nate's arm tightened around him. "No need to be. I told you, rest is all I want."

"You'll change your mind," Wade said softly.

"I'm not in a hurry." He gave Wade a strange smile and added, "When the time comes, so will we."

"Did you just make a dad joke about sex?" Wade said, unable to keep himself from laughing at the corn.

Nate chuckled. It rumbled in his chest and Wade loved the sound. He said, "Yes I did."

"Okay, I changed my mind," Wade said as he nestled himself into Nate's side. "I'm not sorry at all."

Nate kissed the top of his head. "Good."

* * *

Nate decided one thing after sleeping beside Wade: it was absolutely something he wanted to do again and as often as possible, and definitely for longer than an hour. It was strange to feel that way, because most of the time he didn't want anyone to touch him when he was sleeping. He'd spent a long time sleeping alone, and the few times he'd shared his bed since being divorced, he never found it restful. But Wade was just…comfortable. Nate was comfortable, and it was almost frightening.

Wade was sound asleep. He had rolled over and the two were spooned together with Nate's prosthetic arm resting on Wade's side. Even if his good arm was half-numb from laying on it so long and he really needed to pee, Nate couldn't deny that everything felt right with the world. Though, he was certain that at some point he and Wade would need to discuss their expectations of a physical relationship.

Truthfully, Nate had no expectations. He liked sex as much as the next person, but it wasn't a requirement for him to be happy with another person. He was 50 years old. He'd had plenty of sex. He was well past the part of his life where sex was make or break in a relationship. In fact, these days, he preferred to have a strong emotional bond with a bed partner. Sleeping next to Wade like this felt more intimate than anything they would do completely naked. Sleeping, Nate had to completely let his guard down, and that was something he didn't do easily. He trusted Wade.

Wade didn't wake when Nate carefully extracted himself from the bed. Instead he mumbled something about being cold and went right back to snoring softly, so Nate put the fuzzy blanket that hung over the corner chair over Wade before going out to the kitchen.

The mission for dinner was making fajitas. It was a simple enough dish, and before they started watching TV, Nate put the pre-cut steak strips in a marinade. He set up his mandolin slicer on the bracket that held it in place—a gadget his mother found while shopping at a kitchen supply store—and set about slicing up peppers, onions, and mushrooms while the griddle heated up.

Halfway through the pepper slicing, his phone rang. Nate picked it up and was surprised to see his little brother Grey's name on the caller ID. He hadn't talked to Grey in several months. He answered with, "Hey, little brother."

"Nate! You answered," he said in the bright way he said almost everything. Grey was much younger than he and Chris. Fifteen years younger, to be precise. "Do you have time to talk? There's something I want to run past you and I figured I'd talk to you before Chris."

Nate leaned against the counter and said, "Okay. Tell me."

"I'm trying to plan a 50th anniversary party for mom and dad, and I need to know when you have vacation time," Grey said. "I want Hope to be there, too. I want everyone to be there because there may be a secondary reason."

He sounded so excited, Nate asked, "What do you have up your sleeve, brother?"

"I'm going to ask Melody to marry me," he said.

"And you're hedging your bet that she'll say yes in front of our entire family," Nate said flatly.

"Technically, she's already said yes, so yes, I'm absolutely hedging my bet." Grey laughed and said, "This is the part where you say congratulations, brother."

"Congratulations, brother," Nate said with genuine joy. Melody was an awesome lady, and she and Grey were a perfect match. Not to mention they had two of the most adorable kids ever, twin girls—Charlotte and Erika. "I have some vacation time scheduled for next month, and I'll have Hope with me most of the time."

"Awesome!" Grey laughed merrily and said, "Mom and dad's anniversary is the 10th, so I figured the weekend after would be a good time. I think that's the 14th. Between the two of us, we can probably set up the barn and get invitations and all that crap sent out. I can do an evite for their friends."

"I may have someone with me in addition to Hope," Nate said almost hesitantly.

Grey sounded excited. "Indeed! That must be what Hope's Vaguebook post about hanging with dad's new friend was all about. Who's the lucky man?"

"His name is Wade, and both you and my daughter have way too much in common," Nate said with a shake of his head.

"Well, Grandpa Charles and Grandpa Erik are going to be there, so Chris will be on his best behavior," Grey said with that challenging tone. "I personally would love to see him be a dick to you, though, just to hear Grandpa Erik give his speech about not fighting Nazis so his grandson can be a fascist prick."

Nate laughed at that. It was a good speech.

Grey continued, "I figure I'll be at the farm the 7th or 8th. I'm totally claiming the second floor bedroom."

"Asshole," Nate said. Then again, the attic room was a little more private. He shouldn't be thinking like that. He still needed to ask Wade if he would want to go to such an event. Nate barely liked to go to his family get-togethers. He asked, "How's the twins doing?"

"They never stop running," Grey said with a laugh. "It is no wonder mom and dad went gray before they were 40. I found gray hairs already, man. I'm 35. This is bullshit."

Nate laughed at that. "I went gray when I was in my thirties, so it's probably genetic."

"Dude, have you seen Chris lately? Fucker's hair is white now," Grey said with a laugh. "Also, make sure you call him pee-paw. It really pisses him off."

Nate laughed again. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, I've gotta keep making calls," Grey said with a sigh. "It was good talking to you and I can't wait to see you and meet your man!"

"It was good talking to you, Grey," Nate said. They parted with the usual promise to call more often, which they never actually did. Though Nate felt partially to blame for that.

For a long time, Nate and Grey were not very close at all. He was out of the house by the time Grey was 2 years old, and for a long time, Nate wasn't welcome at home. It wasn't until Grey was older that he decided that his big brother Nate wasn't the piece of shit that Chris made him out to be, and that was mostly due to their grandpas setting the record straight.

Grey was the creative one of the family. He wrote science fiction books. At first, he self-published, but a couple years ago he landed an actual publishing contract for his series _The Age of Apocalypse_. The books followed the adventures of a set of female twins fighting an ancient evil through time. The twins, incidentally, were named Cable and Stryfe. Stryfe went full evil in the third book. Chris made a joke about Grey using Nate's nickname for a female character, but neither Nate or Grey mentioned that Strife was their nickname for Chris.

Nate returned to his slicing and tossed a handful of steak into the cast iron skillet. The scent of the meat was enough to make him salivate, and it wasn't long before Wade walked into the kitchen with his eyes half closed and hugged him from behind. He rested his chin on Nate's shoulder, and Nate chuckled at his behavior as he kissed his temple.

Wade groggily said, "You smell so good, I'm going to cry."

"You just want my fajitas," Nate said, feeling that warm and fuzzy feeling growing in his chest.

The feeling intensified when Wade kissed his neck and said, "That was the perfect set up for a dirty joke. I'm almost disappointed. Do you need help with anything?"

"You can grab me a beer," Nate said.

Wade grinned. "I can definitely do that."

As Wade got into the fridge, Nate said, "While you were sleeping, my little brother called."

"The nice one and writer of good books?" Wade asked as he handed Nate a bottle.

Nate grinned. "Yes. Grey. He wants my help throwing a 50th anniversary party for our parents—and probably an engagement party for himself from the sound of it, and I was curious if you'd be willing to go with me? It will involve spending a few days in the country and dealing with extended family, some of whom are decent humans—particularly Grey. And Hope loves to spend time with her cousins and chasing chickens. We usually go up there for a week or so every summer anyway, but…" He realized that he was the one who was rambling now. He laughed and looked at Wade who was smiling at him. "Anyway, do you want to go with me? If you can, that is."

"Are you sure your family will tolerate us being all sinful together in their home?" Wade asked with a cheeky look.

"My grandpas will be there, so I doubt any mention of my sinful nature will be brought up," Nate said.

Wade raised an eyebrow. "You mean your super gay grandpas who fought in World War II and are made of steel and awesomeness?"

Nate chuckled at the description and said, "Yes."

"I will totally go just to meet them!" Then Wade's expression shifted. "Whoa, so I'm going to meet your _whole_ family."

"Pretty much," Nate said. He shrugged and said, "You've already met the only one that really counts."

Wade smiled at that. "So you want me there to make it tolerable."

"That, and I would miss your hollow Demi Moore rumble," Nate said with a smirk.

"I think it's pronounced De-mee, not Dee-me," Wade said.

Nate picked up his spatula and said, "I have the feeling the world will continue to debate that well into the future."


	8. Chapter 8

Vacation was something that Wade had not taken in several years. Even before Vanessa died, Wade wasn't much for vacations because he was usually so busy that when he had time off, it was much more fun to just sit on his couch, eat ridiculous amounts of food, watch TV, and sleep the days away. Now and then, he and Ness would take a weekend trip to somewhere, get a nice hotel room with a jacuzzi, and order lots of room service and make a mess of every surface possible—which was basically what they did at home, just with someone else to clean up after.

The idea of taking a week—actually ten days—to go to the country to visit with family was not even in the realm of possibility. Vanessa had no family that she claimed, and Wade had no family that claimed him. The two of them were alone in the world and had to make their own little cluster of friends who filled the roles that others were born with. Nate had a complex history with his family, that much was clear, but he had a family. A _big_ family, complete with aunts and uncles and grandparents and brothers (even if one of them is a complete asshole). Wade had no idea what that kind of thing was like.

Also, Nate talked about being out in the country like it was a great time. It seemed he was obsessed with dirt and hay and admitted to loving the scent of cow manure. There was also a pond, and it sounded like Nate's childhood was something out of Mayberry—at least until he was seventeen.

It sounded like something between awesome and a total nightmare.

No wonder Nate wanted him to be there.

Taking a trip together was one of those big steps, Wade imagined. Up to this point, their time together was always limited to relatively short periods. With the nature of Nate's job, that was probably going to be the norm for them—only with more overnights and maybe less clothes.

The overnights were pretty frigging awesome.

The first time Wade spent the whole weekend at Nate's place, he was so damned excited he could barely contain it at work. He gleefully sent kids with fake IDs down the road. He was smiling when he escorted the rule breakers to the door. He only frowned a little when he got punched in the face by a drunk, and while he didn't maintain his streak of nobody sent to the hospital—it was just a sprained wrist, nothing major—he still walked out the door feeling like a million bucks.

Nate was sitting out in the lot when Wade walked out the door. It was a little after 2am, and Nate just got home after doing a quick trip to Baltimore to deliver a load of corrosives. It had only been two days since Wade saw him, but he walk-ran to the truck and didn't wait until he was out the door to kiss him. Then he winced, remembering that, yeah, he had been punched in the face that night and his lip was tore on the inside.

"Rough night?" Nate asked, his thumb gently sweeping across Wade's slowly bruising chin.

"Not too bad," Wade said.

From across the parking lot, Neena shouted, "Get a room!"

"Planning on it," Wade said over his shoulder. Nate shook his head, but his smile and shining eyes could light the damned street. Incidentally, this was the first time Nate had showed up at Sister Margaret's, even if he was only in the lot. Wade gestured towards the building. "So this is the lovely establishment of such high reputation where I work."

"I still smell like my place of high reputation," Nate said with a laugh. He smelled like the diesel, stale sweat, and a little too much deodorant to hide that he hadn't showered. Wade shouldn't find it as wonderful as he did, but he wanted to bury his face in Nate's dirty t-shirt and just inhale. In fact, he did.

Nate looked at him with that amused half smile.

"Don't look at me like that, we all have a weird fetish," Wade said. "And you probably shouldn't sniff me because I'm again covered in glitter. Inez the sparkling cowgirl went a little fucking crazy with the effects tonight."

Nate chuckled at that, and said, "It wouldn't be the first time I've had glitter in my truck."

Wade raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to know?"

"Art projects in Middle School," Nate said.

Wade tossed his bag into the back of the truck and hopped in the passenger's side as Nate started the truck. Before he put it in gear, Wade leaned over and kissed Nate's bicep and said, "Thanks for picking me up from work, by the way."

"It's on my way home," Nate said with a smile.

This part of the city was always quiet this time of night, even on a very early Saturday morning. Side streets kept the lights flashing yellow, and Nate took a somewhat meandering path that Wade wasn't following too well until they came out onto the street that Nate's apartment complex was located. Once again, Wade was amazed by Nate's skill with direction, even if by now he should know the guy always knows where he's going—or has somehow downloaded a complete map of the United States directly into his brain.

Nate parked in his reserved space, and the two of them unloaded the truck. Wade slung his backpack over his shoulder and picked up Nate's laundry bag. They walked together to Nate's door, and Wade could feel his heart starting to flutter in his chest.

Once inside, they went through Nate's typical coming home routine of dumping his dirty clothes into the laundry room, putting the ice packs from his small cooler into the freezer, and getting rid of the trash and empty containers he accumulated during the week. Then Nate said he was going to take a shower, and when he kissed Wade, Wade again flinched at the feeling of his teeth scraping the inside of his mouth.

"We're going to have to fix that," Nate said as he took Wade by the hand. Wade followed him into the en suite bathroom, and waited while Nate dug around in his medicine cabinet for a bottle of mouth sore sealer. Then, with that tone that kicked Wade's daddy kink into gear, he said, "Open your mouth."

Yeah, Nate could say that to him in like twenty different contexts, and it would probably always make Wade feel a little tingly in the base of his spine.

As Nate applied the sealer, Wade tried to remember if anyone that wasn't a medical professional had ever doctored his boo-boos. Ness helped him keep track of his medications and made him lots of soup, but Wade tended to handle his own bandage changes and such. Then again, Wade was always a little self-conscious back then because he was losing his hair and his skin was blotched by rashes.

When he was finished, Nate said, "Now try not to talk or move your mouth for a couple minutes."

Wade tried to communicate through his eyes that Nate was asking the impossible. Nate just smiled and started unbuttoning his shirt. Even if Wade's mouth wasn't already hanging open, his jaw would have dropped. He wanted to say something about Nate's little strip tease, but it wasn't really a strip tease because Nate was wearing a t-shirt underneath.

"I really am going to take a shower now," Nate said with that subtle smile.

Wade did his best to give the smoldering eye-sweep of sexiness, but with his mouth hanging open and a little drool happening at the corner, it was probably about as effective as a one of those novelty umbrella hats in a hurricane. Nate was fighting a smile and was losing.

Wade gestured over his shoulder as an indication that he was leaving the bathroom, and he went to the guest bathroom to take a shower. By the time he was clean, and probably well before that, the oral bandaid was set in place. It tasted terrible, and he regretted that he didn't brush his teeth before because brushing was an exercise in his ability to avoid the patch. He succeeded, but it was still a pain in the ass. Or lower lip.

When he got out of the shower, the light was on in Nate's bedroom and he was sitting on the side of his bed wearing shorts and massaging lotion into the skin normally hidden by the prosthesis. Wade was wearing lounge pants and a thin t-shirt and felt a little over dressed. Nate looked up hearing Wade, and had that somewhat hesitant smile.

"Would you like some help with that?" Wade asked as he sat beside him.

Nate looked at him and Wade could see those old insecurities make an appearance for the briefest of moments. Then he tossed Wade the bottle of lotion and said, "Could you, uh, get my back?"

"Absolutely," Wade said with a grin. He put a small drop on his hand and started massaging the lotion in to Nate's back. It was a utilitarian thing, something Nate needed to do. Wade could see how irritated his skin was and how damaged it was in the areas where Nate couldn't reach. This was another one of those subtle intimacies that Wade never imagined he could enjoy.

Plus, the whole shirtless Nate-thing was kind of great, too. Wade kind of wanted to take off his own shirt just to make it even, but wasn't sure if that would be a good idea. Then again, Wade was certain that he would wake up with less clothes than when he went to sleep.

Wade was starting to like the idea of less clothes with Nate. More than just the _idea_ , but also the practice. The fact that Nate put no pressure on him was kind of nice. When the two talked about it, Nate made it clear that he was in no hurry. Nate had this belief that the best sex was between people who had a strong connection. Something about that gave Wade a feeling of anticipation because he had nothing to compare it to. For him, the connections always came later—if at all.

Sex was the start of his relationship with Vanessa. Feelings didn't happen for a long time. Or at least, they were not declared for a long time. Vanessa was a sex worker when they met. She hung out at Sister Margaret's, and at that time, Wade was just a customer who came in for cheap drinks because he was friends with Neena and Weasel, and it gave him something to do when not working for LLL&L. He'd talked to Ness several times because she was cute and funny and an old friend of Neena's, and one night he asked her how much of her time he could get for $275 and a Yogurtland gift card. She was confused when he brought her to an arcade instead of a bed, and he was certain he was head over heels long before he had her heels over her head.

Ness didn't do relationships and love, though, and it was a long time before she ever reciprocated his feelings. There were many bumps, breakups, and reunions in their relationship, and Wade preferred to gloss over those things when he talked about her now. It felt like betrayal to talk about her as less than an angel, even if everyone knew the history. It was their life together that really mattered. It was how she cared for him when he had cancer, how her eyes lit up when he proposed, how excited she was when she wanted to start a family.

"Kids give us a chance of being better than we used to be," she said when he questioned if they would be good parents. She was so confident. So happy. It was the happiest he'd ever seen her. She smiled so easily, and Wade had nothing but resentment for such an unfair universe that would cut her joy so short.

The night Wade told Nate all of this, he cried. _Nate_ cried, and he didn't try to hide it. They just sat on Wade's couch with some movie playing in the background, and Nate held him. Anyone else, Wade would never have been able to let his guard down so completely. And though he hated to admit it, he couldn't drop his armor around Ness, either. They both choked down their emotions, and it was often released with anger. Their arguments were always loud clashes. Ness called it crazy love, and it was.

Nate was just different. He had a confidence that didn't require armor. He gave the finger to masculine stereotypes. He liked his peppermint flavored lip balm. He knew twenty different ways to braid hair. He unabashedly loved romance movies and novels. He listened to Celine Dion while trucking down the road. There was that goddamn fanny pack. And, yeah, Nate didn't need to fuck someone in order to feel like they had a relationship.

The point is, Nate was a very different kind of person to those Wade was used to being around. Sometimes, he didn't know how to react to someone with so much empathy, as if Nate knew exactly what it was that Wade needed, even if Wade didn't know how to—or just couldn't—ask for a shoulder to cry on, an arm to ground him, or a hand to hold.

And that first night, the thing that Wade wanted most was just to be with Nate. When he woke up, he knew that he wanted every night possible with him.

It was scary, and it was wonderful.

Also scary and wonderful: spending the day shopping with Nate and Hope. There was this stigma that Wade had in his head that shopping with a teenager would be a nightmare. Blame it on the media, but it always sounded like some kind of Hell. He should have known that with Nate and Hope Summers, it would be a good time. Hope wanted a dress with pockets; this was non-negotiable. After an hour, Wade joined her in her annoyance that women's clothes were designed poorly, especially where pockets were concerned. They browsed several little shops, roamed the mall for a bit, and ended up at one of those inventory warehouse places before finding something that fit her style needs. Her pick was emerald green with bright yellow accents that made an X-pattern up the back and sides.

Grey informed Nate that the anniversary party was going to be a business dress event, despite being held in a barn. Thus, a suit would be required. Wade did not own a suit—or at least not one that fit—so that was something he needed to remedy. Wade honestly figured it would be a quick thing for him to go into the store, find something that was anniversary party appropriate, and then be done with it. But he clearly did not know what it was like to shop with Clan Summers.

The first thing that Hope said when they entered the suit shop was, "What color suit are you wearing, dad? You guys _have_ to match."

"Black matches everything," Wade said.

"But are you going to do plain black? Pin-stripes? Short jacket? Three-piece?" Hope said as she bounded around one of the nearby racks. "And come on, not every cut looks right. You've gotta accentuate the shoulders."

Nate shook his head and said, "My daughter gets her fashion sense from her mother, I think."

"Says the guy who coordinates his socks and t-shirts," Hope said in a mumble that Wade clearly heard.

Wade looked at Nate and said with a grin, "Okay, sugar bear, what colors are we wearing?"

Nate snorted at the nickname. "I'm wearing dark gray since it's the only color suit I own."

"It matches his hair," Hope said from behind a tie display. Nate squinted at her.

Wade laughed. "If I dressed to match my hair, it would be unseemly."

Hope laughed at that, but the way Nate's gaze swept up and down Wade's body like he was trying to picture him naked nearly left Wade with the vapors.

Hope cleared her throat and said, "I think you should try the gray one with the black pinstripes."

In the end, Wade opted for a charcoal gray three-piece suit, white shirt, and blood red silk tie with black and silver diamond pattern. The tie was Hope's idea. She also picked one out for Nate that was similar, but with blue and silver diamonds.

Wade never imagined himself as being part of one of _those_ couples, the ones who start to dress alike when they were together. He was certain it started with semi-coordinating outfits, and before long they would be wearing couple's t-shirts that said things like "I'm too drunk, take me to Nate" and "I'm Nate," or "I love you" and "I know" with Han Solo and Leia. It would also migrate to their coffee mugs and ordering the same food at diners. There would be a theme to everything, especially the holidays.

Later, when they were eating dinner, the three of them scrunched around Nate's tiny table stuffing their faces with pizza, Wade decided he was fine with this idea. Especially if pizza was in the equation. Meatball and mozzarella. Hope was dipping hers into a pool of ranch dressing like a complete heathen. Then again, both of them looked at Wade like he was insane for suggesting pineapple and olive as a topping choice.

Once finished with his third giant slice, Wade asked, "What time are we leaving in the morning?"

"The ass-crack of dawn," Hope grumbled.

"You know your grandma isn't going to tolerate that language at all," Nate said with a scowl. "But yes. Early. I have my alarm set for 6 o'clock."

Hope let out a whine. "That sounds like punishment instead of vacation, dad."

Wade's and everyone else's bags were already packed and ready to leave in the morning for the northern part of the state. Wade arranged for Neena to check in on Al, and he and Nate thoroughly cleaned the duplex and stocked up on groceries for the ten days they would be gone. Nate fixed the leak under the kitchen sink and programmed his phone number into Al's phone should she need to get ahold of them and Wade's phone didn't have signal. Al grumbled about being able to take care of herself, though she hugged them both when they said goodbye.

"You can sleep on the way, dear child," Nate said. "And I've already confirmed with mom that the bunkhouse is ready to be inhabited."

Hope grinned at that. "Do you know if Rachel is going to be there?"

"Rachel is confirmed to be there," Nate said.

"Yes!" Hope said as she hopped to her feet. To Wade, she said, "Rachel is the _coolest_ of my cousins. Literally the only one I actually like."

"They're also the same age," Nate said.

"That's cool," Wade said, though he didn't know if it was cool or not. Having a big family like Nate's was way outside of his experience. Once, a really long time ago when he was still in the single digits, Wade met a cousin—he thinks his name was Alex, but he wasn't sure. The only thing he remembered about him was that he was a little older and kind of pudgy.

After a moment of hesitation, Hope asked, "Do you think Gabe will be there?"

Nate tensed and said, "I don't know, honey."

The three of them made quick work of cleaning up the kitchen table, putting up the leftover pizza, and washing the dishes. Wade washed, Hope dried, and Nate put everything away. It was a minute of work, but Wade managed to start a small water fight that left Nate with wet pants, Wade with wet socks, and Hope with a droopy spike.

Once the kitchen was back to rights, Nate disappeared to change clothes, and Wade plopped down on the couch. Hope trailed behind him and draped herself across the chair and grabbed the remote. Instead of turning on the TV, she gave the hallway a thoughtful look, then sat up straight and gave Wade a look that reminded him of Nate when he wanted to talk about something.

"What's on your mind, kid?" Wade asked.

Without even the slightest hint of shyness, Hope asked, "Are you and my dad having sex?"

Wade's eyes went wide. "What? No. That's…" He could feel his whole head turning red. "No, we haven't done that."

"Are you lying?" she said, and the way she said it and the look on her face reminded Wade so much of Nate. This kid had a promising future as an interrogator.

"I'm not lying," Wade said as he rubbed the back of his neck. Nate told him that he was always honest with his daughter. Something about communication and maintaining a safe space and whatever. Wade suddenly understood what Nate meant when he said it could be a little uncomfortable. "We're not having sex. That's something we're _not_ doing."

Hope gave him another one of those looks that was way too much like her dad for Wade to not know she thought he was full of shit. "Dude, I've seen your clothes in my dad's room."

Wade felt weirdly on the spot. Wade had testified in _court_ and felt less on the spot. He said, "We do sometimes sleep together, but in a literal sense of _sleeping_. No sex, no nudity. Just sleep. My hand to Odin, that's the truth."

She nodded, and Wade had the briefest moment of relief that the subject had been dropped. Then she asked, "Do you love my dad?"

Wade was surprised by the question, and he took a moment to really think about how to answer this. The truth is, he was starting to think that he did love Nate, but he wasn't sure what kind of love it was. He loved many of his friends, but he knew he loved Nate differently than he loved his friends. He loved him different than he loved Vanessa.

Wade settled for what he knew was the absolute truth. "I don't know if love is the word, or maybe it is the word, but I'm not ready to say it. But I do know that I _really_ like him. I like him more than I've liked anyone in a long time. And sometimes it is harder to like someone on a regular basis than to love them, so I kind of feel like I'm winning in that department."

Hope gave a half smile. "My dad really likes you, too. I've seriously never seen my dad this happy ever, and it's really cool. Just…" She frowned, her face turning serious. "I just don't want him to get hurt, and I wanted to know that you have good intentions."

The shovel talk has finally arrived, Wade thought. Wade cleared his throat and said, "I can't promise you that I'll never hurt your dad, because people hurt each other even when they have the best intentions. And—full disclosure—I am a giant mess of chaos in the brain. It's a fact. But for some reason, your dad looks at all that chaos and thinks I'm worth having around, and that's not something that I want to fu—uh—to mess up. So to the best of my ability, I'm going to try to not mess up, and if I do mess up, I'm going to do my damnedest to fix it."

Clearly, he must have said the right thing because she smiled and said, "Good. I'd hate to have to hurt you, Wade."

Wade laughed at that, and Hope tossed him the remote. "I think I'm going to go to bed since we have to be up at the ass-crack of dawn. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Hope," Wade said.

Wade's entire spine tingled when Nate's voice echoed, "Goodnight, Hope," from the hallway behind him. He turned to see him standing there in his lounge pants and a ratty t-shirt that Wade had left there a couple weeks ago. Wade's heart was suddenly pounding, wondering how much of that conversation Nate heard.

"Sweet dreams, you two," Hope said as she closed her bedroom door.

Nate walked to the couch and sat beside Wade. He was smiling as he said, "You survived Hope's interrogation. I'm proud of you."

"Oh, Jesus," Wade said with an eyeroll. "Don't say you're proud of me."

"Still, thank you," Nate said. "For your honesty."

"Don't thank me, either," Wade said. "She's terrifying. You need to hold me because it was traumatic."

Nate was laughing quietly as he pulled Wade against him and kissed the top of his head. Nate cleared his throat and said, "I really like you, too, by the way."

"Eavesdropper," Wade said, smiling.

They were quiet for a minute, listening to the dull noise that passes for silence in a city. Hope was listening to something bouncy in her bedroom, and the downstairs neighbor's bass was making the floor hum now and then. But Wade was focused on the sound of Nate's heart under his ear. He thought about how Nate had tensed up earlier talking about someone named Gabe.

Even if it was potentially dangerous territory, Wade asked, "Who is Gabe?"

"My nephew," Nate said softly. "Chris' oldest kid." He was quiet for a moment before saying, "When he was 16, he came out, and my brother kicked him out of the house—it's practically a family tradition."

"What happened to him?" Wade asked.

"He's in college now, going to Western State University." Nate frowned, his voice sad. "I felt so bad that I couldn't help him more, though. He called me when it happened, begging me to come pick him up at the Greyhound station, but I was in St. Louis at the time. So, I called up Irene and fronted her money to go pick him up at the bus stop. He stayed with her until I got home, then I took him to my grandpas."

"Are you…" Wade paused a moment before asking, "Are you worried about seeing your family?"

Nate's arm tightened on him a little, and he nodded. "I always am, to a certain extent."

Wade looked up at him, his chin resting on Nate's chest. He didn't want to ask, but he asked anyway, "Am I going to make it worse?"

"No," Nate said, a sad smile on his face. He cleared his throat. "I didn't tell you I talked to my mom yesterday."

Wade sat up a little more. "Was that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good," he said, giving Wade a half smile. "She said she was excited to meet you. She's…" He fish-mouthed a couple times before settling on, "She's not like my father. Her upbringing with Grandpa Charles was a little more liberal. She is eager to meet you."

"That's scary," Wade said with a laugh.

"My mom can be very scary—Hope comes by it honest," Nate said. "She was really young when she had me and Chris. Barely 18. My dad, too, and I think I understand a little more now than I did then why they were the way they were."

Wade's brow scrunched. "What do you mean?"

"They were kids," Nate said. He huffed, "When I look at Hope, she's just a couple years younger than my mom was when I was born, and that is a lot of responsibility to take on—especially twins. They made a lot of mistakes, and some of them were painful for me. But getting older, watching my daughter grow up, knowing how different I am now in my fifties than I was as a teenager, I understand. It doesn't change that my father was cruel or that my brother is a bigot, but I understand."

"It takes some serious testicular fortitude to be able to look at it that way," Wade said.

"To be fair, I will likely be on edge and less than congenial around my dad and brother," Nate said with a slight edge to his voice. "They bring out my defensive side."

Wade said, "You've got backup this time."

That made Nate smile. "Having backup will be a nice change. I…" He paused and cleared his throat. "I've never really had that."

"I assume we're not sleeping in the same room," Wade said.

Nate laughed. "You know that assuming is not a good thing to do."

Wade raised an eyebrow. "You mean your parents are fine with us sharing space and being sinners?"

"It's our choice," Nate said. He cleared his throat, looking a little like Wade felt when being interrogated by Hope. "Would you _be comfortable_ sharing a room with me?"

"Do you really need to ask me that," Wade said with laugh. Then he really studied the look Nate was giving him, at the apprehension in his eyes. Wade brushed his fingers back through Nate's hair, causing a few strands to fall into his face. He looked so good that way. He said, "I really like sleeping in the same bed with you, and as long as you're comfortable with it, I'm there. You can't make me leave, and neither can anyone else."

The smile returned, though Nate's smile still seemed like a frightened bird that would flutter away if Wade made the wrong move. That was when Wade got an idea, and like many of his ideas, he worried it wasn't a great idea and that Nate might find it disturbing or uncomfortable, but so far, Wade found that Nate was very happy with Wade's unusual impulses.

So Wade took the opportunity to set his hands on Nate's hips, and in a smooth motion he hoisted Nate into his arms, and moved him to lay across his lap. Nate was surprised. Stunned, and Wade kissed his already slightly open mouth and was happy to feel Nate kissing him back. In fact, he was quite enthusiastic about it. He was also laughing.

Wade had to wonder if Nate had ever been manhandled like that. He might not be a man of many masculine stereotypes, but he certainly looked like it. He looked like the kind who did the manhandling.

It was all a front that Nate had to put on for a long time for his family. Wade wondered why Nate would even bother—it was something Wade had trouble wrapping his mind around.

Scott Summers, Nate's father, literally kicked him out of the house—put him out on the street—at age 17 because he found Nate kissing boy in the barn. Nate spent a couple weeks living out of the back of his car until he was tracked down by his grandpa, Charles Xavier, and he finished out high school living with his grandpas. The other boy was sent across the country to some Christian camp to "pray the gay" out of him. Nate never saw him again. It was something that haunted him until the advent of Facebook, and Nate thought to look him up. Turns out that he was happy and living in California with his partner that he'd been with for almost 20 years.

The one person that Nate cited as a reason to go home was his mom, Jean. She was out of town doing work for her doctorate in psychology when the whole mess went down, and she spent two years separated from his father because of what he did to Nate. Chris, of course, blamed his brother for _almost_ causing their parents to divorce. Nate went to the military, Jean and Scott Summers reconciled. Eventually, Nate moved back home because he needed somewhere to recover after losing his arm. At the time, he was very much beaten down and broken, and along came Irene who wanted to save him. Nate let himself be saved.

For a time, Nate was again the son that his father wanted and the brother Chris was proud of. Then Hope came along, and Nate tried his best to keep up the appearance that he was happy and fine. But things fell apart as they tend to do when built on a shaky foundation. Nate spent years depressed and isolated, with only a handful of people who truly seemed to care about him.

Now, he looked like the laughing was starting to hurt and Wade leaned down to kiss him again because Nate needed all the love the world could possibly toss his way. Wade was glad to do his part.

"So we're sleeping in the same room," Wade said against his lips.

Nate laughed again. Wade loved that sound more than anything else in the universe. Nate said, "Absolutely."

Wade's eyebrows shot up. "Please tell me we're going to be in your old bedroom."

"The attic," Nate said. "And yes, that is my old bedroom."

"So you and me alone in the attic room with a whole house beneath us thinking about how much we're sinning?" Wade said, his smile so big it barely fit on his face.

"It's really hot up there," Nate said.

The laugh that came out of Wade was borderline evil. "That just means less clothes."

Nate huffed. "It will be absolutely scandalous, even if we just cuddle."

Wade kissed him again. "I'm gonna cuddle the _fuck_ out of you."


End file.
